


The Butterfly Effect

by Iolaire02



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned But Complete, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Good Dursleys, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, POV Multiple, Present Tense, Rating May Change, Some Magical Theory, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Worldbuilding, as in the plot's all there but it isn't in story format, at least in the first chapter, attempt at character flaws, i didn't realise i needed that tag until i saw it, kind of, like very
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolaire02/pseuds/Iolaire02
Summary: Not everything goes according to plan. Haven Lily Potter is born, and the course of the world shifts.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Everyone, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin - Relationship, minor Lily Evans Potter/James Potter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying something new, and I apologize in advance. I'm going to post a WIP, which I haven't done before because I'm aware of how annoying it is to read a story that isn't finished yet. But I'm hoping that posting it will motivate me to write the rest. If it does not, I will do my best to either inform you that I won't be finishing, or I will post the plans I had for the story so that you have an idea of where I was hoping to go.
> 
> I do have a few chapters pre-written, but after those are posted updates will likely be very irregular.
> 
> I also apologize for the summary; it's not representative or informative because I'm trying not to spoil later parts of the story, but this is basically my take on how the series would be different if Harry was born a girl. And then I got started and changed a whole bunch of other shit, so.
> 
> Locations are a mix of book and film-locations, which I didn't realise until after I'd written those parts, and I don't like going back to fix it.
> 
> I should probably mention that there are direct quotes from the books. Credit where credit is due, and all that.

The man - pasty skin, red eyes, snakelike features - tells him to kneel in a sibilant whisper that sends a shiver racing through his body. He doesn’t think he could refuse if he wanted to, not with the heavy weight that settles in his shoulders and bends his knees at the word. 

He kneels, tries to convince himself he’s willing, that this is what he wants, even though his mother has told him his entire life that Blacks don’t kneel, don’t bend or break or bow or ingratiate themselves to others because they are better - he is better - than the rest of the world. He reminds himself that his mother has been wrong in the past, and it is this that calms him more than anything. He pulls an emotionless mask over his face, lets his eyes glitter with excitement, with fear, with something (and it’s exactly what the Dark Lord expects to see), in the light of the torches lining the walls.

He holds out his left arm upon demand, says what the man wants to hear even as his arm is pulled forward, almost wrenched from its socket, by a cold-fingered hand. There is a whispered hiss - snake language, Parseltongue, he tells himself - and a burning pain that lights his arm on fire, that brands it in black ink, pooling into the shape of a skull and a snake, marking him in a way he knows instinctively is permanent. It is not, he thinks later, what he would have chosen to mark his body with (he’d have chosen something of himself, something like fire and ashes and resurrection and freedom, instead of death and serpents consuming each other in an infinite loop), but that doesn’t matter now. 

The Dark Lord has exacting standards; he likes a certain number dead - all of them - or mutilated or injured, and he cannot stand failure. He is both strict and lenient - casting his servants (slaves) into unbearable pain one moment and giving them a hostage to do with whatever they wish the next - and it is impossible to tell the difference between satisfaction and anger far too often. It makes him grateful that the reassurances of his family members were enough to ensure his place in the Dark Lord’s ranks; he knows that nothing he would have done to prove his worth would have been enough.

He has never been more thankful that his skills lie within Inyanga; he is valuable for his abilities in healing, and so the Dark Lord rarely sends him out on raids, unwilling to risk losing one of the few within his ranks who can use and heal with dark magic equally. 

The Dark Lord tells him things, offhand little details that creep up when they discuss death and life. “I have gone farther than anyone in my quest for immortality,” the Dark Lord tells him once, and he knows that this is a man who fears death, who has protected himself from it. He returns to his mother’s house and searches the library in search for information about immortality. 

He volunteers Kreacher’s services to the Dark Lord, tells him to obey and return as soon as he is no longer needed. Kreacher returns, sobbing hysterically, begging for water, begging for it to stop, apologizing for... something. Once he is lucid, Kreacher tells him everything he knows. Tentative plans are formed, notes written and signed and hidden - if he is lucky, they will never be found - and affairs are sorted (a gift for the brother and cousins he will never see again, for the children he will never meet).

“Show me,” he tells Kreacher, and all at once he is standing at the mouth of a gloomy cave with dripping walls, black cooling around a sickly green. He summons the boat, grips the chain in his hand tight when he sees a flash of white below the surface, steps onto dry land. 

He looks down at a thick potion, turns to Kreacher and tells him about secrets, about destruction, tells him to “Never mention this to anyone in my family,” tells him when to leave. He scoops the potion into the cup and drinks. 

He leans heavily against a basin filled with poisonous memories, holding a chalice in one hand and a locket in the other. He falls to his knees, overwhelmed, his throat burning, his mouth dry, his body wracked with the echoes of remembered pain. His left arm burns beneath a cold-fingered hand and a vicious brand, his nerves light on fire, and it freezes him before setting him alight again, a repetitive, never-ending cycle. 

There is a loud crack that bounces off the cavern walls, taking on a cold hollowness as it is muffled by the black lake behind him. 

The thirst grows, and he remembers every time in his life that he drank water to quench his thirst. Water. He needs water. The pain washes over him, and he collapses under the weight of his mother’s hand and the furious shrieks of her voice. He struggles to rise under the pain of his father’s death, and his brother’s departure, and his abandonment. 

He drowns beneath disappointment and failure; it is icy as it chokes him, as it wraps its hands around his wrists and drags him into darkness. The blood running through his veins freezes, and bitter cold coils in his chest, and he sinks beneath smooth glass, surrounded by expressionless faces and sightless eyes and grasping hands. 

He gasps around the numbing water, and it burns him from the inside out. His vision flickers as he burns hotter and hotter, as the lake around him evaporates and the grasping hands glow red and draw out screams of pure agony. He burns. They burn, bodies surrounding him, the bodies of the dead and forgotten, bodies of the persecuted, of the innocent, of the chained. The cavern walls heat and glisten in onyx and emerald, eerily beautiful, and ash falls down around him like snow. 

He burns in fire and it changes him, kills and resurrects him and kills him again until he is little more than a pile of ash and cooling embers. 

(“I will walk through fire to live,” he tells his father in a long forgotten memory. 

“You will burn to ash to survive,” his father replies, stroking his hair as he breathes through the flames that burn through every divot and curve in his ribcage. 

He burns alive, years later, in a time that is not yet a memory, and he claws his way out of the ashes of his rebirth.)

ii.

“The ultrasound indicates that you will be giving birth to a girl, Mrs Potter. It looks like you’re about twenty weeks along.”

Lily sobs, wraps her arms around her stomach, tries to convince herself that she’s happy about this, tries to tell herself that she’d rather it be her child to carry the world on her shoulders, because Alice is her best friend, and she doesn’t want her to suffer.

Lily has never mastered the skill of lying to herself. 

The sonographer looks at her in concern, and Lily smiles weakly at him, trying to paste a look of excitement on her face. “Sorry,” she tells him. “I’m just so happy. I’ve always wanted a baby girl.”

He looks unconvinced, and Lily would feel offended - until she heard the Prophecy, after all, Lily had wanted a girl, but now she wishes more than anything that her unborn child was a boy - except that her words are not exactly true. Despite his skepticism, the sonographer ushers her to the lobby, shoves a copy of the ultrasound image into her hand, and moves on to his next patient. 

Lily walks out the main doors of the West Suffolk Hospital, hurries down Hardwick Lane to a secluded alley, casts a brief glance over her shoulder, and - seeing no one around - Apparates to Godric’s Hollow - the magical-only hamlet in Lavenham. She shivers as she hurries toward her and James’ cottage; the air feels cooler than it did when she left, and Lily supposes that it must have rained a bit while she was out. 

James is not at home when she pushes the front door open, and so - needing to talk to someone - she tosses a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace, saying “Alice Longbottom” as the cool green flames flare up. “Alice?” Lily calls once she can see the inside of the Longbottoms’ flat. 

“Just a mo’, Lils,” Alice calls from somewhere Lily can’t see, before she is skidding around a corner in a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes, and bumping her hip against a table. Lily stifles a laugh, and Alice frowns at her playfully. “All this extra weight,” she complains, “it’s throwing me off balance. I didn’t use to be this clumsy.”

Lily raises an eyebrow at her. “Oh, really? I seem to remember you tripping over your robes nearly every day while we were at Hogwarts. And there was that one time that you tripped down one of the staircases, do you remember? One of the suits of armour had to catch you.”

“Oh alright,” Alice concedes. “But I got better when I started Auror training, and you know it. This little monster is making me revert back to my old habits.”

“Maybe he’ll be just as clumsy as you some day, and you can tell him that he came by his grace honestly.”

“No, I’ll tell him that he’s been clumsy since the day he was created, and it’s only fair that he suffer from terrible equilibrium after he forced it on me again.”

Lily laughs. “Well, I’m glad you’ll have something to tell your son in a few years. Merlin knows you’ve nothing else of importance to tell him.”

Alice gasps in mock offense. “You mean telling him that I love him constantly won’t teach him new things?”

“Nothing except that you love recklessly and completely; why else would you have married Frank?”

“You know me. I just love wondering if he’ll come home each night. And you’re one to talk; you married an absolute madman. I swear, the things James gets up to sometimes damn near give me heart attacks. You were there, Lily, and you know that it was your husband and not mine who compared You-Know-Who to a naga before shouting for everyone to hear that he’d figured out that You-Know-Who’s mother is Echidna. The important thing to note here is that You-Know-Who was within hearing distance for both of those comments.”

“Oh hush. You know very well that Frank can be just as bad. And at least I didn’t marry Sirius; can you imagine the insanity he would pass down to our daughter?” There. She’s said it. 

“Frank is nowhere near as bad as James, though I will concede that Sirius is worse than the two of them combined, and - wait. You’re having a girl, Lily?”

Lily nods, and Alice’s face crumples. “You know,” she whispers, “I was really hoping for a boy. I was really hoping that we would both be able to get out of this scot-free, that someone else’s child would have this burden. But now?” She sighs heavily, and when she finally continues, her voice is thick with tears. “Now I just hope that my daughter will make it out of this war alive.”

“Lily,” Alice sighs, soft and sad and absolutely heartbroken. “I’m so sorry. Can I come through?”

Lily nods miserably, and moves aside to allow Alice some room to step out. Alice tugs her up, and they move over to the couch together, Lily curling into Alice and wishing with everything in her that things were different. 

“She’s not even born yet, and she’s got this huge destiny just waiting to settle on her shoulders,” Lily tells Alice later, after her tears have slowed and dried into tight trails on her cheeks. “The Prophecy might as well have demanded Atlas for all the difference it makes.”

Alice squeezes Lily’s shoulder tightly. “Your daughter is not going to be Atlas. This isn’t going to hang over her for her whole life. You’re forgetting something, Lily. Atlas defied the gods; he was condemned to hold up the heavens. Your daughter will only be defying You-Know-Who, and he is no god. She is not being sentenced to a life of punishment. She is being given the chance to save us. No one will condemn her for that.”

“I don’t want her to have to save us though. I just want her to be safe and happy, damn what’s best for the rest of the world. What about what’s best for her? Why should she save us if we can’t even save ourselves?” She knows she’s being selfish, wants to take back her words, wants to say she doesn’t mean them. But she does. Lily means what she said with everything inside of her. 

“You can’t change destiny. You can’t protect her from this.” Alice looks hurt - for Lily, for the world, for herself and everything that could have been, and Lily collapses next to her, head on her friend’s slender shoulder, a hand resting on top of the skin that separates her from her daughter. 

“I don’t want to have to decide between my daughter’s life and the safety of the Wixen World when it’s not even a choice. But,” she adds, “if it were a choice, I don’t think I’d make the right one.”

“... I don’t think I would, either,” Alice says softly, and Lily hugs her tight, buries this shared, selfish secret deep inside her, and sighs. 

James returns home while she and Alice are still curled up together on the couch, his cheeks flushed and his black hair wild and his eyes glittering furiously as he flops gracelessly into a chair, already talking. “Sirius and I nearly managed to catch Rodolphus Lestrange today, but then Sirius lost his temper and went absolutely ballistic - he still hasn’t gotten over cousin Bellatrix’s circumstances, no matter how many times I’ve told him that Rodolphus can’t and won’t break the marriage contract for anything. So Sirius is now at St Mungo’s for the foreseeable future because he didn’t duck one of Lestrange’s spells, the absolute moron, and Dumbledore has me partnered with Caradoc Dearborn now, who everyone knows is only in the Order because his family’s got money and he agrees with our ideals. He certainly can’t duel to save his life, or mine, which I don’t think our fearless leader took into account when he paired us, so now I have to go into fights while watching both our backs, which is absolute bull, so I think I’ll try to get Dumbledore to reassign me to Frank, because Frank is with Remus right now anyway, and Remus is going to be sent off to someplace to try to recruit werewolves soon, poor man. Alice, you should mention it to Frank, because for all we know Dumbledore will stick him with old Figgy, and we all know the best trick in her book is hitting a person over the head with a frying pan, and she’s almost as terrible at reconnaissance as she is at keeping secrets.” James blows out a puff of air before turning to Lily, his face softening. “Anyway, how was your appointment today, love?

Lily looks at him, vulnerable, and says “We’re having a girl, Jamie.”

“Oh,” he breathes out. He levers himself out of the chair and moves over to the couch, where Lily grabs his arms and wraps them tight around her. “It’ll be okay, love. It’ll be okay. We’ll protect her, we... we’ll do everything in our power to keep her alive. She’ll defeat him. I know it.”

Lily sighs as she huddles into James’ warmth. She thinks of her research, thinks of how her and James’ goal contrasts with Voldemort’s, about what she’s willing to do for her daughter. “Okay,” she whispers into his shoulder. “We’ll give her every chance in the world.”

James drops a kiss onto the top of her head and settles down beside her, leaving her surrounded as she drifts off to sleep.

* * *

“You-Know-Who is really powerful,” Lily tells James over dinner the next night, “but I’ve noticed that every time we’ve fought him, he always uses the Killing Curse at least once. I think it’s his favorite spell - or at least the one he’s most comfortable with, and given that he’s a Necromancer, that makes a whole lot of sense, actually - and so when he comes after her, that’s probably what he’ll use.”

“So how are we going to defend against it?”

“Well, I’ve been doing some research at work, and I think I’ve figured something out. I’ll need your help, because you’re as good with Runes as I am, and you can channel chaos to make them more powerful. But it’s a ritual, and it’s based on sacrificial magic as well as a mostly theoretical branch of magic that I’m tentatively calling love magic.”

James arches an eyebrow at her. “You know, most people prefer it when I make an effort not to channel my chaos magic into Runes. You’ve seen what happens; the Runes tend to combust into plumes of pure magic.”

“Exactly,” Lily says, looking him straight in the eye. “That’s exactly what we want.”

“We do? Okay then. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow, the minute the sun goes down. You know as well as I do that the spring equinox is one of the best days to perform rituals or create new magic.”

“Lily?” James whispers into the dark, much later. The sheets rustle as she moves, humming in question. “Why are you researching a theoretical branch of magic that has nothing to do with Enchanting objects?”

“It’s a badly kept secret, I’ll admit, but I can’t speak of it unless you’re in the know.”

“Oh,” James breathes out, awed. “I suppose you study unspeakable mysteries, then?”

“Yes,” she breathes, relieved but not surprised that he understood; he was always a little too smart for his own good. “I study love.”

“How long?”

“Since we finished school. Time Turners are a gift from the gods.”

“Does time magic effect the baby?”

“I don’t know. I stopped using it when we found out I was pregnant.”

James shuffles closer to her, moulding himself to her back and wrapping an arm around her waist. His hand rests on her stomach, gentle and grounding. “I love you,” he whispers into the back of her neck. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” she says into the darkness surrounding her, her eyes wide and unseeing.

* * *

Lily frowns at the front door - white primer and paint on the wood, white trim, white siding, and as completely devoid of color as the rest of the houses on the street, save for a little gold knocker glinting in the late afternoon sun, and the limited splash of pigment that can be seen through the windows - of Number Four, Privet Drive. She knocks three times. 

“Just a minute!” calls a voice from inside, and Lily grins as the door swings open. “Oh!” Petunia says in surprise. “Lily, what are you doing here?”

“What?” Lily asks, “Can’t I visit my sister every now and then?”

“You can,” Petunia replies suspiciously, “but you usually don’t.” She steps to the side, inviting Lily in, and closes the door behind her. 

Lily follows her to a soft leather couch facing the mantle, admiring the photos lining the wall along the way: there is one of Petunia on her wedding day, her golden-blonde hair half up with loose curls falling down her neck, and her green eyes - so like Lily’s - glittering joyfully as she stands next to Vernon, his dark hair combed neatly to the side. The one beside it is of Lily and Petunia, around ten and twelve, respectively, on swings, positively flying through the air, supported only by chains and plastic, with the wind tangling their hair and wide smiles on their faces. Next is Lily and Petunia, on either end of fifteen, grinning toothily at the camera despite their braces, their parents standing between them - forcing a pattern of red gold, red gold - and Vernon beside Petunia, his arm around her waist. The last picture is of James and Lily on their wedding day, with all their friends and family surrounding them, Petunia and Alice with their arms wrapped loosely around Lily’s waist. 

“I got a sonogram yesterday,” Lily tells Petunia as she sits down, apropos of nothing. Petunia tilts her head slightly in curiosity. “I’m having a girl.”

“Congratulations! You always did want a girl.”

“Thank you,” Lily says. She thinks about telling Petunia about the Prophecy, but decides against it. Petunia has gotten over her fear of magic, but she is still touchy about the subject, and Lily knows it is at least partly because of her rejection so many years ago, knows that the only reason they’re still on speaking terms is because Lily had gone crying to her older sister about losing her best friend after fifth year. “How is yours coming along?” she asks instead. 

“They says he’s due in June, so Vernon and I have been discussing names. I’ve also been planning out his nursery, and making lists of everything we’ll need when he’s born.”

“What names have you come up with so far?”

“Well, Vernon is quite partial to Leroy,” she laughs softly when she sees Lily wrinkle her nose. “Yeah, that was my reaction, too. I suggested Edon, but Vernon thought that sounded too much like a girl’s name, even after I pointed out that some names are unisex - after all, Sydney and Ashley switched genders. Vernon countered with Gunther, which is worse than Leroy, and he knows it. We finally agreed on Dudley.” She looks expectantly at Lily, as though hoping for her approval. 

“Dudley Dursley,” Lily muses. “It has a ring to it. It has something to do with a glade or a meadow or something, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Petunia confirms. “I thought it seemed like a peaceful sort of name. A bit gentle, safe, you know?”

Lily smiles softly, thinks she likes the idea of a name that means safety. “How has Vernon been, by the way?”

“Oh! He was just promoted, actually. They’ve made him director, and he was really quite pleased.”

“That’s wonderful, Tuney! And how has business at your shop been? Are you still hand-making the jewelry yourself?”

“It’s been doing quite well. I recently hired a lovely girl to help manage it. She’s about your age, actually. Name’s Marlene McKinnon.”

Lily makes a note to thank Dumbledore for sending someone to keep an eye on her sister, and says, “How nice. I’m so glad you’ve got someone to help you out, and it’ll be especially useful once you give birth to Dudley.”

“Exactly,” Petunia says, just as the front door opens. “Oh, excuse me for a moment, Vernon’s just gotten home, and he’ll be wanting some tea.”

Lily waves her off, settling into the couch and admiring the cleanliness and orderliness of Petunia’s house. Her sister has always appreciated it when everything has its own place and time, which makes Vernon - with his nine to five job and love for schedules - so good for her. 

“Hello, Lily,” Vernon grunts as he drops heavily into a plush arm chair across from the couch. 

Lily smiles at him, unsure of what to say; Vernon has always been polite and kind, but he is far more reserved than most people Lily interacts with, and she knows next to nothing about him. She suddenly feels guilty that she’s never made any effort to get to know her brother-in-law, but tamps it down. After all, he has never shown any interest in getting to know her, either. 

They sit in silence until the kettle whistles in the kitchen, bringing Petunia through to the parlor only a moment later, holding three mugs of tea in her hands. She offers one to Lily, who takes it gratefully, sipping at the hot peppermint gingerly. 

“Petunia said you’ve been promoted to director of Grunnings, Vernon. I wanted to offer you my congratulations,” Lily offers in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence that has settled between the three of them. 

Vernon grins at the opening she has given him; one thing she does know about her brother-in-law is that he loves his work. She doesn’t quite understand the appeal of desk work and drill development and sales, but Vernon enjoys it, as evidenced by the way he rambles on about his day at work, and the many days before, often going off on tangents about certain clients and customers and co-workers and managers he has to deal with. It makes Lily glad that she picked this topic, because all she has to do is smile and nod and make encouraging noises every now and then, and sometimes she finds herself actually paying attention and laughing at a particularly funny story he pulls out of the woodwork. 

“Will you be staying for dinner?” Petunia asks her some time later, and for a moment, Lily is tempted. It has been a while since she spent quality time with her sister, and nearly as long since she spoke to someone who wasn’t at work or within her friend group or part of the Order. Lily is a social creature, and she thrives on human contact, loves talking to people about anything and everything. But there is a war on, and Lily is a hot commodity who cannot risk herself or her child or her sister and her family just because she wants human contact. 

Sighing, Lily shakes her head. “Not tonight,” she says apologetically, “I have to get home soon. Maybe we can try for another day?”

“Of course,” Petunia says as she walks Lily to the door. “I’ll call you with a good time, and we can make a day of it.”

Lily turns at the doorway to hug Petunia, who hugs her back with all the strength in her bony body. She has never been more glad that they were able to overcome their animosity, and she thinks vindictively that she ought to thank Severus for inadvertently repairing her relationship with her remaining family. She won’t, of course, but she wonders how he would react if she did; she no longer knows him well enough to guess, and he has changed from the little boy she used to know. 

She has changed, too. Maybe even enough to realize that she was just as cruel when she refused to accept Severus’ apology as he was to call her Mudblood and flaunt his friendship with people who hated her for her blood.

* * *

“Your mother’s necklace,” Lily says to James, “the gold one with the ruby and diamonds.”

“The one with the little leaves on it?” James asks, and at her nod asks, “What about it?”

“I want to use it as a focus for protection. It’ll act as a shield against the Killing Curse. I think your parents would have wanted her to have it, anyway, and I’d rather carve Runes into metal and gems than into her skin. It won’t be too gaudy, either, and she’ll be able to wear it constantly.”

“I’ll get it from Gringotts right now. You said it would be best to start this evening, right?” 

“Yeah. I just have to finish sketching out the Runes I want to use in the ritual.”

“Okay, love. Back soon.”

Sowilo, Perthro, Eihwaz, Kenaz, Raidho, Uruz, Fehu, Algiz, Teiwaz. Various Runes for protection and defense, which Lily plans to have James carve onto the back of the necklace so that he can channel his magic into it. Lily hopes to delay the combustible tendencies of his Runes until they are triggered by a harmful spell.

There are two parts to her plan to protect their daughter; the necklace, with its Runes and Enchantments, and a ritual that will start long before Voldemort comes and fall into place the minute he comes for them. She only hopes that it will be enough. 

James comes back with the necklace in hand, and Lily sets him to work carving the necessary Runes into it as soon as she finishes Enchanting it with a delay and trigger. The diamonds glow with her magic. She watches as he channels his magic into it, and the ruby shines unnaturally, casting a faint light from the inside out.

“So this is technically an illegal ritual, but I’ve altered it a bit, and no one will know unless we tell them.”

“Will it protect her?”

“Yes.”

James looks at her, his jaw tight and his eyes hard. “What do we do?”

Lily smiles sharply. “We create the ritual circle in blood, so that when the time comes, we can sacrifice our magic to protect her. Magic is in our blood, after all, and blood is what keeps us alive.”

“So we’ll be sacrificing everything for her? I can see why this ritual is illegal.” He looks at her with interest. “What did you change about it?”

“I’ve set another delay; this way we can finish setting up the ritual when she is born, and it will only activate upon our deaths. And then even if we are not there to protect her, our magic will be.”

“Good.” And the way he says it is almost vicious.

* * *

“Congratulations, Mrs Potter, it’s a girl. Seven point four pounds, healthy. Date of birth is thirty-one July, nineteen eighty. Time of birth is fifty-nine minutes past eleven, post-meridiem. Would you like to hold her?”

Lily gasps out an affirmative, already reaching out to hold her daughter. 

“Have you decided on a name, Mrs Potter?”

“Haven. Haven Lily Potter.”

“A wonderful name,” the doctor says. “You and Haven seem to be in good health, so you should be all set to go home in a couple hours; we just need to keep you for a little bit for observation. In the meantime, if you feel up to accepting guests, you have an Alice and Frank Longbottom and a Sirius Black waiting out in the lobby.”

“Oh, yes, please send them in,” Lily says, before she turns her attention to James, who had been unnaturally speechless throughout the birthing process, letting her squeeze his hand almost to breaking. Now, he looks at the little bundle resting in her arms in wonder. 

“She’s so wrinkly,” he says, “like a hairless rat or something.”

Lily stifles a laugh against her shoulder, smiles up at him. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Yes!” James lets her place Haven gently into his arms, and stares down at their daughter, entranced. “I love her already,” he tells Lily softly. “I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much after seeing them for the first time.”

Lily understands what he means; before Haven was born, she was in love with the idea of a child while she suffered the effects of a parasite in her body. But the moment she held Haven in her arms, Lily was loving a real human being, was loving a tiny, fragile thing, and she had no choice in the matter. “We did this,” she tells him, equally soft.

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

After a perfunctory knock at the door, Frank follows a swanning Alice into the room, holding Neville, and Sirius trails in behind them.

“Alice, Sirius, meet your goddaughter. Her name is Haven, and we’ll make it all nice and official later on. James and I thought it would be nice for Haven and Neville to have as much family as possible.”

Alice wraps her arms around Lily before she approaches James with a demanding expression. “Let me hold my goddaughter, you absolute menace.”

James looks at her with a pleading expression, but Alice pays him no mind, scooping Haven up from his arms and running a hand over the reddish peach fuzz on her head. Sirius looks down at her in awe after giving Lily a hug of his own. “She’s so tiny,” he says. “Even smaller than Neville is. Is she healthy?”

Frank rolls his eyes at Sirius. “She’s fine, you big baby. The doctors would be here right now, or she would be with them, if anything was wrong.”

Alice slips Haven into Sirius’ arms, still supporting her. Sirius squawks at her, shifting his arms to hold the baby close. “Alice,” he complains, “what if I’d dropped her? Lily would never have forgiven me!”

“I wasn’t going to let her fall,” Alice says indignantly, “and besides, you didn’t drop her. You’re holding her exactly right, Sirius. Don’t worry.”

Lily and Frank exchange an amused glance. “Not only are both of you Aurors,” Frank tells Sirius, “but you were both Beaters on the Quidditch team for five years. You two know how to work together, and your reflexes are spectacular. You wouldn’t have dropped her.”

“Okay,” Sirius says, his eyes barely flickering away from Haven to acknowledge Frank and Alice’s reassurances. “Okay.”

* * *

“Sirius, you shouldn’t have!” Lily exclaims as she finishes helping Haven push the wrapping paper away from her birthday present. Haven squeals delightedly at the contents.

“I know, right?” Sirius asks gleefully. “It’s the newest model; Nimbus finally decided to make children’s brooms, and I knew that with a former Chaser for a father and two Beaters for godparents, it would be more surprising than not if Haven couldn’t fly.

“You really, really shouldn’t have.” Lily repeats, and Sirius’ smile slides off his face when he sees her murderous expression. 

“It’s child safe,” he offers pathetically. “Cushioning Charms and Anti-Crash Jinxes and a speed and height limiter and everything. It’s perfect for a first birthday present.

“Anti-Crash Jinxes aren’t a thing, Sirius,” Lily says flatly, not dignifying the final part of his pitiful argument with a response.

He looks pleadingly at Remus, who only snorts as he hands over his own gift. Haven scrabbles at it uselessly until Lily helps her out and is pleased to find a three-dimensional portrayal of the planets spelled to orbit a glowing sun. The detail is incredible, and as Lily strokes a finger over the little sun, she notices that it is warm to the touch. Her finger almost sinks into Jupiter, and she knows at once that Remus must have Enchanted this himself: few people in the Wixen World know much about the physicality of any planet but their own. She is impressed; his Enchanting is not nearly as flawless as her own would be, but then Remus is not an Enchanter. He is not born to tie spells to objects or people like she is. He is more inclined, she reminds herself, to blood and wildlife and, appropriately - or inappropriately, depending on who you ask - the moon. “It’s beautiful,” Lily says because Haven cannot, has not reached that level in her babbling speech yet. 

Remus smiles softly, nodding his thanks as Sirius sidles up next to him and wraps an arm around his waist. Lily raises an eyebrow in curiosity, and Sirius’ eyes dart away from her to focus on Haven. “We’re trying it out,” Remus tells her. 

Lily thinks they could be good for each other and tells them as much. Only in the privacy of her own mind does she consider the idea that Sirius is too emotionally constipated after sixteen years with his mother, and Remus is too emotionally vulnerable about everything - a result of the treatment he received after he was bitten - for this relationship to work out unless something changes. She has trouble imagining Sirius allowing himself to open up, and she knows that it would take an actual miracle to get Remus to see himself as he actually is, and not as a worthless animal who happened to luck out in the friend department. Still, it doesn’t hurt to hope.

Thoroughly done with the miniature solar system for the time being, Haven turns her attention back to the broom from Sirius. 

“Fly!” she demands, and it is on the tip of Lily’s tongue to refuse, even as the little broom leaps into the air at the demand, but James catches her eye. 

“What can it hurt?” he asks, barreling through her attempt to speak when he sees her open her mouth to list out the dozens of ways it can hurt. “All of us are competent fliers, and that broom is Charmed and Enchanted to high heaven. It wants to keep her in the air, or it would, if it were sentient. It can’t go very fast or very high, and if it makes you feel better, we can move the breakables and cushion the floor. She won’t hurt herself, I promise. We won’t let her.”

“Fine,” Lily huffs.

James and Sirius help Haven onto the broom, and as soon as her little fingers curl around the handle and the broom starts floating, she begins giggling maniacally. Without warning, she takes off, shooting between James’ legs, twisting through the air and almost crashing into Peter’s cat before she course corrects, flying as high and as fast as the broom will let her, racing alongside James as he runs cackling through the cottage. 

Lily quietly dreads the day that her daughter is old enough for a proper broom.

Peter’s gift, Lily is relieved to find, is completely child safe. It is a delicate gold bracelet - a simple glittering chain with tiny little rubies, and Lily is delighted to see that it’s adjustable - that matches Haven’s necklace. 

Peter tells her that it is woven out of a protection spell of some sort, and allows her to investigate all the Runes and Charms and Enchantments that went into weaving the piece of jewelry. It is an impressive piece of work that Peter admits he had help in creating. Lily is unsurprised to learn that Dumbledore is the one who offered his abilities - given his proclivity for Alchemy, it is not surprising that he would find a way to Transmute magical energy into a physical, tangible form - and thanks both him and Peter profusely for helping her protect her daughter. 

Peter waves off her thanks, smiling down at Haven as he loops the bracelet gently around her wrist, knotting it so that it fits. “Anything to keep her safe,” he says softly, adoringly, and Lily wonders how she managed to end up with friends who love her daughter nearly as much as she and James do.

* * *

“Why aren’t Gideon and Fabian here?” James asks Dumbledore. Lily turns from her conversation with Alice - one that had started with their children’s latest accomplishments, and moved into a discussion regarding the Death Eaters’ latest attacks and tactics - in curiosity. 

“They are with Frank on a mission at the moment,” Dumbledore says reassuringly. “They’ll be back soon enough.”

Reassured, James turns back to Sirius and Remus, giving them his full attention as he waits for everyone to settle down enough that Dumbledore can begin the meeting. Lily eyes Alice in concern. “Did Frank tell you he was being assigned a mission with the Prewetts?”

“No,” Alice looks worried. “He told me he had a meeting with Dumbledore, Order related, but he never said what it was about, and it never occurred to me that it might be about a mission, even though we already had a meeting set.”

“He’ll be fine. Frank is a fantastic dueler, and Fabian and Gideon are creative enough to make up for any weaknesses they might have in the strategic department, which are actually not as many as you might think, given the amount of times they got detention in school because of a prank they played or a rule they broke during Quidditch. They’ve all fought together before; you’ve seen them yourself. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

“Let’s begin,” Dumbledore says, his voice carrying over the quiet conversations. “Peter, how did your infiltration of the raid the other day turn out? There hasn’t been much information in the Daily Prophet.”

Lily looks over at James in surprise; she hadn’t noticed Peter’s arrival. She offers him a wave, which he returns as he begins his report. “As you know, the village the Death Eaters were raiding was primarily a Muggle village. Very few wizarding families live there, and the ones that do - McKinnon and Meadowes - are mostly comprised of Half-bloods and Muggle-borns.

“Your spy was right,” he acknowledges begrudgingly - Peter had been the most vocal protester when Dumbledore had told them about his source of intelligence, saying that one can never truly trust whose side a spy is on. “You-Know-Who wasn’t there himself, but the Lestranges and Crouch were leading the raid. They had Anti-Apparition wards up, as well as Anti-Portkeys, so my team and I had to use Disillusionment Charms and other methods of disguise.

“They weren’t prepared for our arrival, so we managed to take them by surprise. The Death Eaters all managed to escape, but there were no casualties and only a few minor injuries. The Muggles in the area didn’t notice the commotion, so we’re safe on that front as well.”

“Wonderful news, my boy,” Dumbledore says proudly. “Did you notice if they used any new strategies during the skirmish?”

Peter pauses thoughtfully. “Not during the actual fight itself, no, but I did notice that instead of Disapparating - even after the jinx was stripped - the eldest Lestrange brother flew away. No broom or anything, just what appeared to be unsupported flight, and he was able to cast spells with his wand even while he was flying away because he used a Disillusionment Charm not soon after he made his getaway.”

“How interesting. Was he flying quite fast?”

“Fairly. Not as fast as a racing broom or anything, but fast enough. I think they might eventually be able to use flying against us in actual battles, and not just as an escape route. It would make for good evasion tactics, flying out of the way of a spell instead of dropping to the ground or sidestepping it. It certainly has the potential to be dangerous.”

“Fascinating,” Dumbledore whispers, almost to himself. “Absolutely remarkable. We will have to keep that potential in mind in our upcoming battles. Thank you for your information, Peter.”

“No problem, sir.”

“Now, Remus.” Dumbledore says, turning his blue eyes toward his next target. “I have received information about a werewolf pack near London. Apparently, they rejected Voldemort’s recruitment. Not many of them survived his wrath, but I believe that those remaining might be convinced to join us in this war. I want you to go talk to them.”

Remus bows his head in acceptance. Lily notices Sirius’ furious expression at the order and winces. He will try to talk Remus out of going alone, she knows, and Remus will argue back, and in the end, they’ll both end up butt-hurt and speaking to each other in the way one speaks to a stranger, instead of talking it out the way most people who are trying to work out a relationship might. She looks at James, who rolls his eyes dramatically at their friends. They’re on damage control with Peter, then. 

“Do you have any other intel about the werewolves?” Remus asks. “Any extra information - the Alpha of the pack, for example, or size, or general attitude toward magic users, or jobs and interests and such - would be invaluable in the success of this mission.”

“Nothing so extensive,” Dumbledore says regretfully, and Lily frowns. She was hopeful for a moment that Dumbledore would have detailed information for Remus, but it seems that that is not the case. “If you will stay after, I can give you all the information I have, but I don’t know how useful it will be. They seem to be very private, and I don’t know how Voldemort even discovered them in the first place.”

“Probably Greyback,” Sirius says bitterly. “He’s with You-Know-Who, and is known for his ability to track werewolves. Probably because he’s so in touch with his wolf.”

“That is very possible. It certainly explains why they knew about that pack before we did, but it cannot be helped. Greyback is not within our sphere of influence, and nothing we can offer will entice him to aid us.” Dumbledore pauses, and Lily knows that he is making sure that he hasn’t missed anything. “I will inform you of our next meeting location in a couple days, so please keep your eyes open in the meantime for any information about Death Eater attacks, and if my source tells me anything, I’ll call some of you in to -“

He is interrupted by the crack of Apparition, and everyone jumps out of their seats with their wands out. Lily breathes a sigh of relief when she realizes that it is just Frank, but then she notices the blood. Alice stifles a sob and runs over to him. “What happened?” she asks urgently.

“We - we were underprepared,” Frank gasps out, gritting his teeth in pain. “It was an attack in Ottery St Catchpole. The magical section is mostly occupied by Pure-bloods, though none of them support You-Know-Who. Um, we were outnumbered. There were at least twelve of them, um, Rookwood, the Lestranges, Macnair and Malfoy were there. It wasn’t - ah, fuck - for recruitment. They were already dragging people out of their homes to be tortured and killed when we arrived. Um,” he stops and grabs his ribs, his face contorting. Caradoc moves over to him to help heal him. Frank shakes his head and goes on. “Fabian and Gideon and I managed to take down six of them, but they weren’t any of the inner circle. They all got away. They…” he sobs, and Lily can’t tell if it’s from the pain or from the stress of the fight. “They killed Fabian and Gideon. It - there was so much blood. I think the younger Lestrange got Gid with either an Exploding Charm or a Blasting Curse, or something else, pretty early on. I… I didn’t hear what he used, only the scream. I only saw the aftermath, I…” he breaks off, his voice catching, and Lily has to look away as he completely breaks down. It’s always painful to hear about losing one of their own, worse when it is their friends, the people they’d spent years with as they grew up. It’s especially hard to hear about when the person talking about it is Frank, who has seen death and walked out sane, and is still torn up about Fabian and Gideon to the point that he’s gagging on his tears as he tries to report.

“Fabian,” Frank continues in a raspy whisper, and Lily wants to leave, wants him to stop talking shut up shutup shutup, doesn’t want to hear about how Fabian died, “realized Gideon was dead. I think - I think he felt it happen. And you know how they were. They were so close. Connected. And. And Fabian is a Chaos Mage, and so he drew on the confusion and the chaos, and he exploded. He took out five of them when he did, and I got the other one. By that time, the rest had gotten away. There were casualties, I don’t know how many. Injuries, too. I didn’t stay to help.” He chokes. “I’m so sorry. I - I need to go. Um. I can’t do this right now. Alice can fill me in. I. I’ll see you later.” He stumbles to his feet, and staggers to the door, wincing, his face pale. He Disapparates, Alice right behind him, leaving the room in a painful silence.

No one waits for Dumbledore to dismiss them, simply filing out in silence until only Lily and the Marauders remain, waiting for Remus. Dumbledore hands Remus a stoppered phial with a shimmering memory inside. “All the information I have about the werewolf pack is in there. You may use my Pensieve if you do not have access to one.” He turns a sharp gaze onto Lily and James. “My spy has informed me that Voldemort plans to make his move soon. It has been confirmed that Haven is the target. I advise you to go into hiding either someplace Unplottable, or under the Fidelius Charm. If we can keep her out of his reach, the Prophecy will be non-viable. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to defeat him so that your daughter does not have to. For your safety, this is your last Order meeting; after you go into hiding, you should remain home as much as possible. If that means you have to quit your jobs to stay safe, I suggest you do so.” He nods at them once, and then he Disapparates, leaving Lily to stare in shock at James and their friends.

* * *

“I think we should do the Fidelius,” Lily tells James later, resting on the couch with her head in his lap. “I’ve been doing some research and it seems like there are less potential issues than if we move to one of your Unplottable properties.”

“What are the potential issues for Unplottables?”

“The wards have to be taken down every ten years for maintenance. I was looking through the properties that have been passed down through your family - and there are a ton of them, by the way - and the majority of them are currently Unplottable. But none of the properties have been used for decades, and maintenancing wards or redoing them completely takes time, which is really not something we have a lot of. In comparison, the Fidelius is the better choice because it’s just a quick spell, and all you really need is someone you trust. We have those in abundance.”

“Okay, so who are you thinking for Secret Keeper?”

“I was thinking Sirius; he’s your best friend and we both trust him. I would have said Frank or Alice, but they have to take care of Neville, and I would never want to endanger another child. Remus will be on his mission for Merlin knows how long, and Peter’s time is being commandeered by Dumbledore, because not only is he good with strategy, he’s also a Ceremonial Magician, and great with rituals, and Dumbledore has been trying to figure out alternative ways to defeat You-Know-Who.”

“I’ll ask him,” James says. “Do you mind if he comes over tonight? He’s sulking about Remus’ mission, and Peter’s otherwise occupied, and I don’t want to force him onto Frank or Alice after the Order meeting this evening.”

Lily smiles at him. “Of course he can come. You’re practically brothers; you certainly share your flare for the dramatic. I could never refuse a visit from him.”

“I am not dramatic!” James protests. 

Lily looks at him. “James,” she says condescendingly, “you cried while I was the one giving birth, and I know I wasn’t squeezing your hand that hard. When Sirius got hurt, you went on a rant about his stupidity even though all it took was a little Skele-Gro to fix him. And!” she says triumphantly, when she notices him trying to protest her accusations, “you absolutely humiliated everyone who ever showed interest in me at school because you wanted, and I quote, ‘Just one date, Evans, and if you hate it, I’ll let it go.’ So yes, James, you are dramatic, and you probably will be until the day you die.”

“Fine, fine,” he concedes. “I’ll tell him to get his scrawny arse over here.”

“Sirius has a better arse than you do, dear.”

“Lily!” he squawks. 

“I’m allowed to look!”

“I suppose so,” he says dramatically. “But you should know that I only have eyes for you.” It’s cheesy, Lily knows, but he says it with such sincerity that she can’t help but lean up to kiss him, looping an arm around his neck to pull him down.

“I love you,” she says against his lips. He kisses her harder, his hand resting gently against her cheek like she’s something precious, the other in her hair, and Lily thinks that he doesn’t have to say what she already knows, because he’s said it a thousand times or more. 

“I love you too,” he tells her anyway, pulling away to shuffle down the couch so that his front is pressed along her back in a warm silhouette, his arms wrapped around her waist. “I love you too.”

“Of course I’ll do it,” Sirius tells them once they broach the subject. It’s like he’s glad to have something to do now that Remus is out and she and James have been excused from the Order for the unforeseeable future. Lily worries a little at the way his eyes glitter despite the danger he will be in as their Secret Keeper. 

“You’re sure?” Lily can’t help asking. “It’s a lot to ask of someone.” She needs to make sure that he understands the magnitude of this decision, needs to know that he knows he is risking his sanity - his life - for their safety. “It’s not that I don’t trust you completely,” she clarifies when she sees the look on his face. “It’s more about the fact that you’re risking everything for us. It’s not something I would want to ask of my worst enemy, let alone part of my family. You shouldn’t have to risk your mind or your life for us.”

He looks at her, his eyes hard and serious, his jaw set. “I would do anything for you guys. You and Remus and Peter are all I’ve got left. You don’t get to decide what I should or shouldn’t risk. Only I can choose that, and because you’re my family - because you guys are the most important things in the world to me - I choose to risk everything for you.” His voice is low and dangerous. “When the time comes, I will sacrifice everything for you. I’ll set the world alight and leave it to burn until all that’s left is ash, if that’s what it takes.”

The scary thing, Lily thinks, is that he means it. He’ll do anything for them; he would find a way to burn down the entire world if that’s what they needed. Sometimes, it is terrifying to be loved by a Black.

(Sometimes, it’s terrifying how easy it is to love them _back_.)

* * *

“If something happened to James and I, would you be willing to care for and protect Haven? If it was absolutely necessary?” She wants to think she knows the answer to this question, but uncertainty means she can’t look away from the newest picture on the wall: a little girl with hair the color of Pinot Noir and emeralds for eyes next to a slightly older blond haired, blue eyed boy, their hands and feet covered in wet sand, glittering waves crashing against the shoreline behind them. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if the answer is no.

“If it comes to it, I’ll raise her as my own. You know me, Lily. You know I’ve always wanted a daughter, and now that that’s an impossibility, now, at least biologically, she would be the next best thing because she’s yours, and that’s close enough to mine.”

“She’s in danger,” Lily manages to press out. “I’m doing everything I can to protect her, and I need your help to do it as completely as possible.”

“What can I possibly do besides agree to raise her if something happens to you?”

“I need a small amount of your blood.” Lily risks a glance and sees utter confusion crossing her sister’s thin face. Haven and Dudley babble quietly at each other in the background, a mixture of words and gibberish barely making it to her ears. “It’s for a protective ritual; the blood of family members makes it stronger, but only if it’s willingly given.”

Petunia is not any less confused, but she doesn’t seem to have an issue with Lily’s odd request. “You don’t need any from Vernon, do you? He’s still not comfortable with the idea of magic, and giving his blood would be a foreign idea for him if it’s not for donations or testing. I don’t think he’d like the idea of his blood being used for magical purposes.”

Lily frowns. “Did James and Sirius traumatize him at the wedding?”

“Yes.” Petunia says flatly. “They turned him into a gorilla. Neither of us even knew that was within the realm of possibility. To be honest, I’m surprised he’s not more anti-magic than he is, but I certainly don’t blame him for being wary.”

“No of course not,” Lily concedes. “If that was my first experience with magic I’d be wary, too. And no, I won’t need his blood for this, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Okay. Can you -“ Petunia breaks off, like she’s embarrassed. “Can you tell me about the ritual? It sounds interesting, and you know I’ve always wanted to learn about magic.”

Lily smiles, slow and sly. “Well,” she begins, “this ritual is illegal, for one thing, because even though it’s for protection, it involves blood magic. However, because it involves blood magic, once the protection is triggered, it offers limited protection to its contributors. It won’t be the same extent that it protects Haven, but it will hide you and Dudley from any Wixen that you don’t want finding you, specifically anyone who is an enemy of Haven’s. The ritual itself is hard to explain, but it’ll involve using the blood to paint protective Runes onto Haven’s skin; they’ll become semi-permanent, lasting until she’s considered an adult by magical standards, and the Runes and the magic powering them will protect her from harmful intentions.”

“None of that seems like a bad thing. Why does the use of blood magic make this ritual illegal?”

“Blood,” Lily says softly, “carries a witch or wizard’s magic. That’s not the only form it can be found in, because magic isn’t really a tangible thing. Unless,” she mutters under her breath, thinking of Haven’s bracelet, “you’re Albus Dumbledore.” She pauses. “Basically, the Ministry objects to the idea of using what amounts to a fairly pure form of magic in rituals because it can be... destructive, or it can misinterpret the intentions of the ritual to adhere to the desires of the people involved, depending on the willpower of said people, I guess. Of course, it rarely is - destructive, that is - but you know how people are: something goes wrong one time, and it’s suddenly known that it’s always dangerous and deadly.”

“So it’s illegal to do something that might go wrong but usually doesn’t, just like there’s a chance for the same in everything anyone ever does?”

“Pretty much. Granted, the potential consequences are worse than your average every day thing, but it takes talent or actual effort to screw it up that badly.”

“Wow. You people are crazy,” Petunia tells her. 

Lily laughs; she’s not wrong. “I like to think the insanity is just part of the charm. But that’s also what I tell myself during those rare moments when I wonder why on earth I agreed to marry James.”

“Well, both those relationships are pretty permanent, so let’s hope you aren’t kidding yourself.”

Lily looks over at Haven, where she plays with Dudley, carefully floating blocks around his head, making them dance in and out of his reach. She sees the hair, the same color as her own, but just as untamable as James’, and the stubborn chin and high cheekbones that belong to her husband still hiding under baby fat. “I’m not,” she tells her sister, soft and absolutely certain. “I don’t think this is something I could ever regret, no matter what happens.”

* * *

“What happens if I die while I’m keeping the Secret?”

Lily looks away from her book to look down at her lap where she’s petting Sirius’ hair. “Everyone who knows the Secret becomes Secret Keeper.”

Sirius looks at her thoughtfully. “Everyone knows I’m your Secret Keeper.”

“Yes?” Of course they do; their going into hiding was no quiet affair, given that James had resigned from the Aurors, and Lily had stopped going to work as well. Everyone had automatically assumed that Sirius, being James’ best friend, had all the information about their sudden disappearance. 

“I think you should switch Secret Keepers,” he says, and it takes Lily by surprise. 

“How come?”

“Because I’m willing to die for you guys, but not if it means that a bunch of people suddenly have the ability to tell You-Know-Who where you are. I love all of our friends as much as you do, but we’ve recently discovered a spy in the Order. What if they know the Secret and I die? They’ll be able to tell him and he’ll kill you and James and Haven. I - I can’t lose you.”

“Who do you think we should switch to?”

“Peter.” His answer is immediate and confident. “No one knows what he’s capable of; they’re always underestimating him, so no one will guess that he’s the Secret Keeper. I’ll be a decoy, so no one will know you’ve switched, but no one will be able to get the Secret out of me or anyone else if I die.”

“Have you talked to James about this?”

“Yeah. He thought it seemed like a good idea, but he wanted to run it by you.”

Lily hums in consideration. “It’s not a bad idea. Peter loves Haven as much as you do, and he loves James, too. I think it could work, especially now that Dumbledore isn’t sending him out on as many missions as he was a few weeks ago. Why don’t you ask him and let us know what he says.”

“I... kind of already did,” he tells her sheepishly. “He said yes.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’ll do the switch tomorrow, and no one will know.” Except Dumbledore, she corrects herself silently, no one will know.

* * *

“Lily, take Haven and run!” James’ voice comes from far away. She doesn’t bother replying, doesn’t bother shouting back that there is nowhere for her to run. There is no escaping this. There is no turning back. 

She and James will both die tonight, betrayed to the enemy by Peter (They’re always underestimating him), and there is no knowing if Haven will make it out alive. Even with all their preparations, there is no way to tell if the protections will hold up against the Killing Curse; they never dared to test it.

Lily makes her way upstairs, Haven cradled in her arms. She kisses her daughter’s forehead gently. “You will live,” she tells her desperately, her back to the door as she uses the last of the blood - she doesn’t know anymore if it is hers or James’ or Petunia’s or someone else’s, and it doesn’t really matter - to draw Sowilo onto Haven’s forehead. The blood sinks into her skin, leaving no trace behind. 

(Will it protect her? James asks. 

Yes.)

Lily hears footsteps coming up the stairs. Not James’, she notices distantly. Somewhere deep inside her, something shatters. James (I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud into the night and the eyes I smile into in the morning; I pledge to you my living and my dying) is lost to her, swallowed in a sea of deadly green, taken to a place she cannot reach. She traps her heartbreak between her teeth, bares them in a mockery of a smile at her husband’s murderer (Naga. Son of Echidna) as he prowls through the doorway.

“Step aside,” he tells her, as though he means to spare her life when he has already stolen a part of her and aims to steal all that is left of her mangled soul.

“No.” Her voice is sure and certain, no hint of hesitation or weakness. The world fades away around her until there is only this: a child with all the best parts of them at her back (I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much), a monster facing her (There are no monsters under the bed, her father tells her, because monsters aren’t real. Only this time, the monster is real and murderous, and he has crept out from beneath the bed, and all that is between them is Lily’s broken, bleeding heart, torn from her chest and throbbing with magic and determined refusal), and Lily, love seeping from the fissures in her heart as she stands between them, unwilling to stand by and let her daughter die. (We’ll give her every chance in the world.)

“Step aside,” he says again, fury coloring his voice. 

“No,” she repeats, steadfast and unwavering. (We’ll be sacrificing everything for her. Our blood. Our lives. Our magic.)

“Step aside!” he commands, his rage cresting and overflowing.

Inhale. Exhale. “No.” A whisper, calm and resolute. Unshakeable. Third time’s the charm. (I love you.)

(Sometimes, it’s terrifying how easy it is to love.)

“Avada Kedavra!” A flash of green flies forward to embrace her. 

iii.

Godric’s Hollow looks like it always does at night; quaint cottages with glittering windows line the streets, and the ground is wet enough to reflect the light in jagged squares. 

Sirius shivers against a chilly breeze and wraps his leather jacket tighter around himself. It does nothing to protect him from the unpleasant temperature as he makes the walk from his motorcycle to the front door. He notices with consternation that the door - a bright red even when surrounded by darkness - hangs off its hinges. He pushes it open wider and flinches at the broken creak that seems to echo through the house. Sirius’ heart leaps into his throat; he made the wrong choice. 

Peter betrayed them. Sirius sent them into the hands of the enemy, and James and Lily stared at him with guileless, trusting eyes as he did so.

He can’t stop the sob that rises up his throat from escaping. There - at the foot of the stairs. James is sprawled along the floor, his neck angled uncomfortably against the bottom steps, his arms and legs long and extending to the sides without care. His face is set with the lingering remnants of determination, his eyes wide open. Sirius kneels by his side, lifts a trembling hand to close James’ eyes. Suddenly, he is terribly, irrationally angry. “Why’d you have to go and die on me, huh? Why’d you leave me?” His voice cracks and tears burn at his eyes, and he is selfishly glad that there is no one alive to see him crumble.

A creak from upstairs catches his attention, and Sirius rises from his crouched position and makes his way up the staircase. The door into Haven’s room is completely gone - vaporized, maybe - and quiet babbling dances through the air toward him. He is filled with relief - Haven is still alive - until he hears a sob emanate from somewhere inside the room; he can’t see exactly where it’s coming from. It’s not Lily, he notices: the rasp and tone of it is too low, and for a brief, horrible second, he thinks it might be Peter. The thought makes him dive through the doorway, his wand out threateningly, his tongue shaping words to accuse betrayal. The sight of greasy black hair strangles the words before they can leave his throat. 

It’s not Peter cradling Lily’s limp, lifeless body. It’s Snape, who looks up the moment Sirius enters the room, stands abruptly, and - tossing a sneer that is more heartbroken than loathing over his shoulder - Disapparates.

The loud crack (it should never have been possible, the wards should never have shattered enough to allow for Disapparition) disturbs Haven, and her babbling shifts to upset shrieks. Fat tears roll down her cheeks, and Sirius steps past Lily to scoop Haven up. She calms quickly, reaches up to pat his cheek with a chubby hand. “Pa’foo!” she says “Mummy and Daddy?” 

“Mummy and Daddy are sleeping with the angels, Angel.” He rubs a soothing hand down her back, angles her away from where Lily lays in front of the crib. He has to get Haven out of here, has to get her away from the crumbling supports in the room, away from the heat and dust particles that float through the air. He doesn’t know exactly what happened here, but Haven’s room looks only slightly better than a war zone, and Voldemort is not here, and Haven is, with only a bloodied Rune on her forehead. “Come on, baby, let’s go have a sleepover.”

He makes his way out of the destroyed room, grabbing things he knows Haven will need. He bends down as he passes Lily, and strokes his knuckles against her cheek, closes her eyes and blinds her to the rest of the world. He leaves the cottage to bury his friends and doesn’t look back. 

“I would have burned the world to ash for you,” he says, pausing just before he steps off the property. “I would have died for you, or sacrificed my sanity to save your lives. You’re dead now, and I know you’d want me to live for you. I don’t know if I can live for you anymore, but I can live for her.” 

There is no answer; they are dead and silenced by it. The wind howls around him, whips at his hair and flings it into his eyes. He feels numb, like the cold can’t reach him, even as it stings at his skin and sets his fingers tingling. He holds Haven tight to his chest where his body heat seeps through his shirt - even if he cannot feel the cold, she can - and turns on his heel. Godric’s Hollow implodes before his eyes, and he shrinks and squeezes uncomfortably through a straw. With startling clarity, Hogsmeade blinks into existence, all golden light and shuffling footsteps and cheerful voices ringing with laughter as children race from door to door hoping for candy. As he walks past, the light is swallowed by shadows and laughter is swallowed by silence. If the joy has left his life, he reasons, why shouldn’t it leave everyone else’s?

(“What are you doing, Pads?” James asks him two years earlier. 

“Grieving.” Sirius replies, staring out his window at the flickering city lights; they go out. He’s got no father, no brother, no mother [even though she made it near impossible to love her].

“Regulus wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“Regulus is dead. It doesn’t matter what he would have wanted. Leave me be, Prongs.”

“No.” James says staunchly. “You’re right. Regulus is dead. But Sirius? You’re not. You are still alive. Let yourself live, okay?”

“Why should I? He had his whole life ahead of him. He was better than me. He - ”

“If you can’t live for yourself, live for him. Live for me and Lily and our baby. Live for Remus and Peter. Live for us until you can live for yourself.”

“Okay.”

The lights flicker back on, spit back out by the shadows. The laughter crackles like a radio being tuned into a station. It smooths out.)

Sirius slips into the Honeydukes cellar unnoticed, and squeezes through the secret passage. It is tighter than he remembers, and he is grateful when he finally reaches the One-Eyed Witch and it moves to the side. He steps into the hallway, which is warm from the sconces lining the walls. 

The walk to Dumbledore’s office is long, and the Gargoyle standing guard outside is uncharacteristically impatient as Sirius tries guessing the password. He finally gets it - Sugar Quills - and makes his way up the spiral staircase. He shifts Haven to his hip and knocks on the heavy door that leads into Dumbledore’s office. It swings open, and Sirius steps inside. 

Dumbledore is behind his desk, reading a heavy book that Sirius is able to see covers Alchemy. Blue eyes peer at him curiously over half-moon glasses. “What brings you to my office tonight? I’d have thought you’d be out with James and Lily, cleverly disguised, sending Haven up to various doorways for candy.”

Sirius looks away from his old Headmaster, cataloguing the contents of the room: the Sorting Hat still rests on a high shelf above a myriad of books. Silver trinkets still cover nearly all of the big oak desk. The only difference he can find between now and the days when he and the rest of the Marauders found themselves in Dumbledore’s office every other week for various reasons (pranks gone wrong, or fights gone far too far) is the golden stand in front of the window, and the red and gold Phoenix perched on top of it. “When did you get a Phoenix?” he asks instead of answering Dumbledore’s question.

“Fawkes found me around two years ago,” Dumbledore replies, humoring him for a moment. “One day, he appeared in my office, which resulted in his burning day, and he hasn’t left since then. On occasion, he brings me some fascinating reading material, and for the most part, he is an enjoyable companion.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell us you had a Phoenix?”

“One does not have a Phoenix, Sirius, only its loyalty. Why are you not telling me the reason for your visit?”

“James and Lily switched Secret Keepers. From me to Peter. It was my suggestion.”

“Lily informed me of the switch, yes.”

Sirius looks at him in surprise. He hadn’t known that Dumbledore was aware of the switch, had never expected that knowledge to work in his favor, because he had thought that it being public would put Peter - and by extension, James and Lily and Haven - in more danger. “They’re dead.” Sirius says flatly, so numb that he can hardly feel the pain of his loss anymore.

A tear trickles down Dumbledore’s wrinkled cheek. “I’m sorry, my boy. You should not have had to lose more family than you already have.” He peers down at Haven. “She survived the attack?”

“Whatever Lily and James did worked. When I got there, Haven’s room was in ruins, like an explosion had gone off. She had this cut on her head, but other than that, she’s unharmed. And You-Know-Who was nowhere I could see.”

“I shall investigate the site,” Dumbledore says musingly. “Please take Haven to Madam Pomfrey for evaluation, and get yourself some food from the kitchens and try to rest. I’ll see you both here in the morning.”

Sirius makes his way to the door, intent on heading to the Hospital Wing. The sound of Dumbledore’s voice stops him. “James and Lily made a choice, Sirius. Their deaths are not your fault. You are not their betrayer, nor are you their murderer. Do not disrespect your friends’ memory or yourself by taking the blame for something you had no fault in.”

Sirius walks out the door. Dumbledore may be right, but Sirius is not emotionally capable of accepting his words so soon.

* * *

“As far as I can tell,” Madam Pomfrey tells him the next morning, having kept Haven overnight for inspection after threatening Sirius with Dreamless Sleep should he refuse to leave, “there is nothing wrong with her besides that little cut on her head, and it should heal up just fine. Of course, I’ve no knowledge of the effects of surviving the Killing Curse, but it seems as though there are no adverse side effects. To be safe, I recommend taking her to someone well versed in dark magic and healing - an Inyanga, maybe - but I don’t think it’ll hurt her if you don’t.”

“Okay,” Sirius says, thinking that he would like to trust Regulus with this, that he wants his little brother’s opinion on Haven’s survival and the tiny cut resulting from it. But Regulus is dead, he remembers abruptly, has been for just over two years, and probably went out in a blaze of glory no matter how his death came about. The torches in the Hospital Wing flicker in unison; they go out, swallowing the stone floor and vibrant tapestries along the walls in darkness. Haven wails. The torches ignite all at once, glowing brighter than before as Sirius pulls his mind away from the losses of the past viciously.

He goes to meet Dumbledore in his office to talk about Haven and James and Lily. He learns very little there, only gaining confirmation that Voldemort used the Killing Curse when he attacked Haven, and that James and Lily used a very illegal ritual to save Haven’s life. It is nothing he didn’t already know; after all, he donated some of his blood to Lily’s ritual. He can’t say he regrets it when it saved Haven’s life. 

“I have already told them that Haven survived the attack. No one will question it, and few will wonder how she is still alive.” Dumbledore tells him matter-of-factly. “So long as the reign of terror is over, few will question how that came to be.”

Sirius eyes him curiously, slouched in the chair opposite Dumbledore’s own, a leg thrown casually over the arm in a mockery of the give-no-fucks attitude he is known for. Was known for, before Regulus and James and Lily. “How can you be so sure?” he asks skeptically.

Dumbledore looks at him seriously over the tops of his spectacles. “No one bothered to ask how I defeated Grindelwald. No one thought to ask if he was dead or alive after I was done with him. All they cared about was that he was gone, unable to harm them ever again. People don’t care about the suffering and the death and the pain that goes into fixing this broken world. They care about results, not details.”

Sirius looks up at the ceiling, unable to think of what to say in reply. He is not given a chance to come up with anything; the fire beside him crackles to life, spitting green flames out.

“Dumbledore!” Peter’s voice says frantically. “Dumbledore! James and Lily are dead and Haven is missing. I think… I think Sirius betrayed them to You-Know-Who! We have to find him and keep him away from Haven so he can’t kill her!”

Dumbledore’s eyes flicker over to Sirius, who is out of Peter’s line of sight, as he tenses furiously. The brief glance is neither extended nor obvious enough to draw Peter’s suspicions. Sirius watches as Dumbledore manipulates his face into a convincing look of concern. “Where are you right now, Peter?”

“I’m at home, why?”

“I believe you might be in danger; I suggest you leave as soon as possible. You needn’t worry about young Haven. I will have someone search for her. You have my word that she will be safe from any malicious intent.”

Peter looks relieved at Dumbledore’s reassurances. “Alright. I’ll see you soon, sir.” He pulls his head back and cuts the connection. As soon as Peter is gone, Sirius rises abruptly to his feet. 

“I’ll be back. Watch Haven for me.” Sirius doesn’t bother to phrase his words as a request. He has no desire to give Dumbledore the chance to refuse, and he does not want to be talked out of the course of action he has decided upon. 

Dumbledore looks worried. “What are you - ”

Sirius doesn’t let him finish his question, throwing Floo powder into the fireplace and stepping into the heatless green flames as he shouts, “Wormtail’s Nest.”

The image of Dumbledore holding Haven swirls away from him. He closes his eyes against the sickening spin of fireplaces that are not where he wants to go. The Floo spits him out in Peter’s living room, and Sirius lands on his feet, stalks towards Peter, whose back is towards him. “Why did you do it?” he asks, allowing his voice to sound out his devastated confusion. 

Peter doesn’t turn around to face him, only raises his hands to rest against the counter top where Sirius can see them. “It wasn’t because I didn’t love them, Padfoot. You know I did. But I’m not like you; I’m not the kind of person who’ll let the world burn - who’ll burn it down - to keep his friends safe. I loved James and Lily. I adore Haven. But we are not the only people in the world, okay? We are not the only ones who deserve to live.

“You heard the same information about the Prophecy I did, Sirius. You know, somewhere inside you, that it was telling us that Haven was the only one who could defeat You-Know-Who. It was a risk, and I know that. But I took a risk, that risk, and it sucked - of course it did - but it paid off. He’s gone.”

“And so are James and Lily!” Sirius roars at Peter, agony wrecking his voice. “He’s gone, yes, but now so are they. They were your friends, Pete! How could you…” His words shatter against nothing as they fall through the air from his lips. “How could you risk them?” comes out soft and heartbroken and lost.

“Two or three lives for the lives of the entire Wixen World, Sirius.” Peter turns around, and Sirius notices furiously that there are tears tracking their way down Peter’s cheeks. He looks broken and smaller than normal. “It’s not even a question, Pads. I’d do it again, no matter how much it hurt, and you know why?”

Sirius raises his eyes to Peter’s, waiting. “It worked, mate. I took a risk and it panned out, and we’re all safe now. She beat him, and a few people suffering for the safety of an entire world? Hell yeah I’d do it again, even if it was my life being sacrificed.”

Sirius sags, his strings cut and no longer holding him up. Peter darts forward, ducks under Sirius’ arm and holds him upright long enough to settle him into a chair. 

“Why’d you try to pin the blame on me?” Sirius asks. Peter rolls up his sleeves, showing off an ugly mark on his left forearm. 

“Just because I was Sorted into Gryffindor doesn’t mean I have no self-preservation instincts. It was a means to an end,” he says, gesturing at the mark, “but I don’t want people knowing about it. I know not everyone sees things the same way I do - you’re proof enough of that. 

“My choice has saved us all, but no one will see it that way. I said I’d do it again, and that’s true. I would have offered up my own life if it would stop him. But there are fates worse than death, in this world, and that’s where I would be headed if I hadn’t done something about it. 

“Come on Sirius, think about it. Think about where you come from: a family of Pure-bloods, a family of Muggle haters, a family with several members allied with You-Know-Who. They expect something like this from you. The world expects betrayal and prejudice and broken promises from a Black. It makes sense. Why shouldn’t you take my place - everyone will know it was you, after all.”

“Sacrificing more people for your Greater Good, I see,” Sirius says viciously. “First James and Lily because you didn’t want to die, now me because you want to remain free.”

“James and Lily were for the good of everyone!” Peter shouts, furious. “But my caring about the good of the world doesn’t mean I’m not selfish,” he says, softer. “And it’s not as though you really care about other people, either, now that James and Lily are dead.”

“I - no. That’s not true,” Sirius argues. “I care about Haven and Remus.”

“Then why are you here, Pads? Why are you here and not with them?” He smiles, soft and hard and unforgiving. “I’ll tell you why. It’s because you’re just as selfish as I am. It’s because you want revenge for what you’ve lost so much that you can’t see what’s still right in front of your face. You can’t see what you already have.” Peter’s smile transforms into a goading smirk. He backs up, his arms spread wide. “Well, Sirius? I’m right in front of you, right in front of your face. I’m right here. What’re you gonna do about it?”

Sirius lunges at him, manages to grab onto Peter’s arm as he twists on his heel and Disapparates, a whispered “Catch me if you can,” wrapping around the both of them as they squeeze uncomfortably into and out of nothingness. Sirius staggers when they reappear on a busy street corner. A quick glance at their surroundings tells him they’re in Muggle London, and he casts a Muggle-Repelling Charm as Peter pulls out his wand. 

The thing about Peter, Sirius realises as he watches his friend - are they friends, still? - trace a complicated golden diagram into the air in a series of quick motions, is that he is unpredictable. Most people don’t adapt rituals for wand usage, and fewer still use said adapted rituals in duels. Peter is not like most people, Sirius supposes, so he gives a final flick with his wand, pushing the glowing ritual toward Sirius’ chest like a battering ram. 

Sirius lets go, and all his anger and betrayal and fear and agony and grief leap forward from his chest in the shadowy form of a dog. It - Padfoot, he - swallows the ritual and lunges for Peter, who waves his wand again, somehow faster and even more intricately than last time, and sends a silver-colored ritual shaped like a sword at the dog’s chest. Both Padfoot and Peter’s sword vaporize the moment they make contact. 

“Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Incendio! Bombarda, Expulso, Reducto, Confringo, Petrificus Totalus!” Sirius calls out, linking spells together in a chain. The spells distract Peter for long enough that Sirius is able to swallow him in a shroud of darkness with just a flick of his fingers as he taps into his despair. Unfortunately, Peter is able to dispel the blackness that surrounds him with a quick flick of his wand and a bright wash of light. 

Quicker than Sirius can follow, Peter casts a tripping hex that he is unable to dodge. Sirius falls to the ground, and pulls himself up to be met with the vicious glint of bared teeth. He can only watch as Peter sends a Cutting Hex toward his own finger, his face pulling tight in pain. And then, Peter begins to trace another ritual into the air, this one glowing blood red and silver and gold as he slams it against the ground, and shrinks into his Animagus form, scuttling toward a nearby sewer.

The explosion resulting from Peter’s casting is more effective than anything Sirius has ever managed to cast. It seems to implode at first, swallowing up gravel and pavement, before it explodes outward, shattering the Muggle-Repelling Charm and destroying the bodies of several people nearby. The ones closest to the blast are little more than charred bits of skin and sinew and bone scattered across the ground. The ones farthest from it - and one of them is only a child, Sirius notices with a distant numbness - are in larger chunks, missing major limbs and bleeding steadily from the lacerations and holes that have found unexpected refuge in their bodies. There are at least eleven - no, twelve - that he can count, and he wonders hysterically how Peter could have done this. 

Grief and rage and shock commingle as he looks out over the destruction, as an image of the death and destruction of the cottage in Godric’s Hollow superimposes itself on top of reality. Sirius cannot help but laugh; not even a week ago, he was happy, his friends and family were safe. 

And now? His family is dead, and these strangers are dead, and everything has gone so hilariously wrong. He laughs until tears come to his eyes because it’s not funny how everything has gone to shit, but he can’t stop himself, can’t stop the tears, can’t stop the laughter from bubbling up out of his throat, can’t stop the world from blurring hot around him. 

He is still laughing when the Aurors come.

“It’s all my fault,” he murmurs to himself. If he hadn’t suggested switching Secret Keepers, James and Lily would still be alive. If he hadn’t chased Peter, he would be with Haven, and those Muggles wouldn’t be dead. “It’s all my fault,” he says again, and it changes nothing.

They take his muttered words as an admission of guilt. They remind him of where he comes from, of who he is, of the laughter that lined his face when they found him as they escort him to a cell. They show him a finger, bloodied, tell him it’s all that’s left of Peter, and he can’t stop the laugh that tears its way out of his throat because it’s not. It’s not.

They throw him into Azkaban, where they leave him to snarl and rage at the injustice of it all, where they leave him to claw at the bars and the walls and the floor because he doesn’t belong here, not in this cell, he’s not guilty, not guilty, not…

The Dementors come and they dig up every terrible hopeless feeling and every devastating memory, and they convince him otherwise. 

Am I guilty? he wonders in a haze, after the Dementors are finally gone (again? Again?) and he is no longer confined to his four-legged form. Am I? Did I? No. 

The Dementors come back, and he grits his teeth against them, snaps and snarls and growls at them, refuses to let them hurt him. 

He has been hurt enough already. 

“I am not guilty,” he whispers to the heartless creatures. He shouts it until the words ingrain themselves into his mind, his heart, his soul. The Dementors turn a deaf ear, and the prison guards sneer and spit at him, speaking of betrayers and murderers and this is the least you deserve. He keeps shouting it until the only people who hear him are the prisoners surrounding him, and even they do not reply.

(“I didn’t do it,” he tells James and Remus and Peter. “I didn’t make Snape go to the Willow on a full moon.”

James looks at him in disappointment. “You goaded him. You know how he is and you poked and prodded and mocked him until you reached the point that you knew he’d try to find out what was happening, especially because it deals with the Dark Arts.”

Sirius stands his ground. “I didn’t make him do it. He made a choice and it was the wrong one.”

“You gave him no other option because that’s who he is, and you knew it!” James roars. “What you did put more than just Snape in danger, Sirius. You risked Remus’ safety, and mine, and that’s not even as bad as risking Snape’s, because we know what we’re getting into when we run with wolves. Snape doesn’t, and you almost got him killed!

Sirius sneers at James, the expression feeling foreign on his face. “I didn’t,” he shouts back, unwilling to accept the truth. 

“You did,” James tells him, soft and deadly certain. “You did this. Don’t try to misplace your part in this with lies. You are guilty.”)

Guilty, guilty, guilty. It echoes in his head like a mantra, wraps around him and strangles him with the clinical syllables. Guilty, his memories whisper to him, cold and cruel and far away. He drowns beneath the accusations, beneath the truth, beneath the pain. 

Guilty, guilty, guiltyguiltyguilty. 

Not. 

Not guilty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than the last one by a lot, but I wouldn't expect anything resembling consistent chapter lengths.
> 
> From this point forwards, the story will be primarily - if not entirely - from Haven's point of view.

She opens the front door to see a stern woman with black hair standing on the front stoop. The woman is wearing a double-breasted tartan skirt suit, has a green overcoat draped neatly in the crook of her left elbow, and holds a fancy looking envelope in her hand. She hands Haven the envelope - and it is inscribed with ink the same color as the woman’s overcoat, she notices as she takes the heavy letter automatically.

“Miss Potter,” The woman says with a thick Scottish brogue, “I am Professor McGonagall. I am here to offer you a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and provide answers to any questions you and your family might have upon your acceptance.”

“Oh!” Haven says with some surprise, her attention moving between the letter in her hand and Professor McGonagall. She steps out of the doorway, inviting the Professor in and closing the door. “Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon!” she calls. “Professor McGonagall is here about Hogwarts. Please follow me,” she adds in quieter tones as she leads McGonagall into the living room.

McGonagall sits primly on the chair opposite the couch; Haven takes a seat across from her, and they wait in silence for Aunt Petunia - beading a tray of tea and biscuits - and Uncle Vernon to join them.

“Miss Haven Potter,” Haven reads aloud once everyone is seated. “Second Bedroom, Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging.” She opens the envelope carefully and slides the thick parchment out, unfolding it.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wixen)_

_Dear Ms Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on one September. We await your reply no later than thirty-one July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Haven looks at McGonagall. “If you decide to attend,” the Professor tells her, “I will mark you down as attending when I arrive back at Hogwarts.”

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_First-year students will require:_

  * _Three sets of plain black work robes_


  * _One pair of Dragon hide gloves (or similar)_


  * _One pair of Dragon hide boots (or similar)_


  * _One winter cloak (black with silver fastenings)_


  * _Casual clothing/robes_


  * _Undergarments_


  * _Pyjamas_



_Please identify all items and clothing with name tags_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

  * _The Standard Book Of Spells Grade 1 (Miranda Goshawk)_


  * _A History Of Magic (Bathilda Bagshot)_


  * _Magical Theory (Adalbert Waffling)_


  * _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration (Emeric Switch)_


  * _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi (Phydilla Spore)_


  * _Magical Drafts and Potions (Arsenius Jigger)_


  * _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Newt Scamander)_


  * _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection (Quentin Trimble)_



_Please identify all books on the inside covers_

_All Muggle-raised students should have a copy of the following:_

  * _Brewing for Beginners (Mala Myristica)_


  * _Muggle-borns in the Magical World (Josephina Wyvernia)_


  * _The Magical World in the 1900s Edition 8 (Emilia Vanhart)_


  * _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts Edition 9 (Thomas Mortis)_


  * _Etiquette, Holidays and Politics for the Muggle-raised (Leta Lestrange-Scamander)_


  * _Magical Affinities (Millicent Gardener)_


  * _Basic Latin (Corvus Romula)_



_Please identify all books on the inside covers_

_All students should have one each of the following:_

  * _Wand_


  * _Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_


  * _Set of glass or crystal phials_


  * _Telescope_


  * _Set of brass scales_


  * _Set of self-inking quills_


  * _Self-replenishing roll of parchment_



_Students may also bring one of the following, if desired:_

  * _Owl_


  * _Cat_


  * _Rat_


  * _Toad_



_Any other animals will be given to the Gamekeeper until the end of the school year_

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMS_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus_

_Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions_

“If you choose to accept, I will return in a few days, and we will go to Diagon Alley to collect your required supplies; this will give you a chance to meet some of your year-mates, as Muggle-raised students are taken to Diagon together.”

“How many students are Muggle-raised?” Haven asks curiously. 

“I would say about half of Hogwarts’ students are Muggle-born or raised, and the other half are Half or Pure-bloods. There are roughly one hundred sixty students per year, give or take a dozen or so.”

“How exactly does this whole thing work?” Uncle Vernon asks abruptly. “Who pays for the education, and the supplies, and what does the education entail, exactly?”

McGonagall turns a gimlet gaze on him. “The Ministry for Magic covers tuition and room and board for all students; maintenance and such is not as expensive as it would be at a Muggle school, given magic, and so the Ministry is really only paying the teachers’ salaries. Typically the student pays for their own supplies, unless they or their families cannot afford it, in which case there is a fund set up for them.” She purses her lips into a thin line that makes Haven think she’s displeased. 

“Education at Hogwarts,” the Professor says in response to Vernon’s final question, “is nearly entirely magically based; we do not teach maths or science unless a student chooses to take Muggle Studies as an elective in their third year. First and second years only take classes relating to Traditional magic. Traditional magic is the kind any witch or wizard can perform regardless of power or affinity, and includes Charms and Transfigurations, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions, Astronomy and History of Magic, and Flying. All of these classes are required until the end of fifth year, when Hogwarts students take their Ordinary Wizarding Levels. 

“Near the end of second year, students will take their Terribly Helpful Exams Simplifying Traditional Rules and Lessons, ensuring that they understand the basics of these core subjects. After passing their THESTRALs, they may choose two or three electives to add to their schedule for their third through fifth years. These electives include, but are not limited to, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies. Students will also take their OWLs for the subjects that they choose. 

“Upon completion of the OWLs, a student may choose one of two paths. The first is to leave Hogwarts, with the understanding that these students are only trained in Traditional magic and are untrained in whatever their speciality might be. The second possible path is to continue your education; you will be able to choose to take any of the core classes or electives that you have gained sufficient scores in on the OWLs, at NEWT level. If you continue these classes, you will be expected to take the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests at the end of your seventh year.

“Additionally, you will receive training in the magic you present as having an affinity for, starting in your sixth year. These classes will continue through your seventh year, and then you will receive more specialized training for your affinity for a year after you have graduated Hogwarts.

“After this time, you will be able to join the workforce in the Magical World. Or, if you so choose, you will have the option to return to the Muggle world and find work there with the understanding that using magic in front of Muggles who are not part of your family or your spouse breaks the Statue of Secrecy and will result in a reprimand at best and a trip to Azkaban at worst.”

Haven blinks at her, taken aback by the influx of information. “What is the Statue of Secrecy?” she wonders aloud, half regretting the words the moment they leave her mouth. No doubt McGonagall will have as much to say about the Statue as she did about Hogwarts' curriculum.

McGonagall hums thoughtfully. “The Statue of Secrecy is a law proposed by Ralston Potter, Ragnok the Goblin King, Amalina the Veela Queen and Magorian the Centaur Cheiftan to the Wizengamot in sixteen-thirteen. It restricts the use of magic in front of Muggles, for one thing.

“Additionally, it is the name that was decided upon for the barrier that sets our worlds apart; the Wixen World is best described as a pocket world. There are certain points of access that are in the Muggle world, and wixen can leave the Magical World at any time, but Muggles cannot get in. It keeps us safe from each other while simultaneously allowing us to share space. Many cities and towns have a magical-only section in the same place as non-magical fixtures, and it is because of the Statue of Secrecy.”

“Okay,” Haven says, overwhelmed. She wants to know more about this world. She knows that her parents were part of it, knows they were murdered by an evil wizard when she was young. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon have never hidden her past from her; they told her about magic and her parents as soon as she was old enough to understand, but what little they were able to tell her of the Wixen World was unable to satiate her curiosity. And now she is being invited to a world with a school and teachers who will be able to answer her questions, and she’ll be able to learn magic. “I want to go,” she tells her aunt and uncle. “I’m accepting my place at Hogwarts,” she informs Professor McGonagall firmly. 

McGonagall smiles softly at her, and Haven is struck by how much younger it makes her look as the stern lines at her eyes and mouth fade. “I look forward to teaching you,” she says before standing and making her way to the door. “I will see you on August first, Miss Potter,” she says, and then she disappears with a sharp crack.

* * *

Haven wakes up to the smell of bacon and pancakes wafting up the stairs. She gets dressed hurriedly, tiptoeing down the steps and jumping the last three as her dark red hair braids itself away from her face.

“Happy birthday,” Aunt Petunia says from where she stands facing the counter. She is piling food onto four plates, and Haven goes over to help set the table.

“Thank you,” she says, and again when Uncle Vernon and Dudley enter the kitchen a few moments later wishing the same.

None of them are particularly fond of mornings, so breakfast is quiet; Dudley helps himself to two more pancakes, and Uncle Vernon adds more bacon to his plate. Haven watches as Aunt Petunia adds more fruit and granola to her yoghurt, and stirs milk into her cup of tea.

The sound of the post being delivered breaks the pleasant silence. Haven rises from her seat, places her dishes in the sink to be washed, and goes to collect the mail. There is a letter from Grunnings, a couple of bills addressed to her aunt and uncle, a postcard from Aunt Marge boasting an image of the Isle of Wight, the morning paper, and a box with Haven’s name on it. She brings the mail back into the kitchen, setting the box aside with the rest of her birthday gifts, and handing the Dursleys the rest.

Uncle Vernon opens it, muttering about taxes and Marge feeling better, while Aunt Petunia clears the table and sets about washing the dishes. Dudley trundles back upstairs, returning a moment later with a box of his own that he places precariously on top of Haven’s pile. He frowns at the stack for a moment, and then carefully begins moving the boxes over to Haven’s spot at the table.

At the bottom of the pile is an old wooden trunk, and Dudley struggles to lift it. “Haven,” he calls, “come help me move this; it’s heavy.”

Haven rolls her eyes at her cousin, but she heads over and heaves up the side opposite Dudley’s. Together, they shuffle back toward her seat and set the trunk down with a loud thud. Aunt Petunia frowns at them as she dries off her hands and makes her way back to her chair. “There is no need to hammer a hole into the floor, you two; don’t pretend you’re incapable of putting things down gently.”

“Yes Mum,” Dudley says, and crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue at Haven the moment his mother’s back is turned.

“Now,” Uncle Vernon says, “Haven will open her gifts, and then we’ll need to pack everything we need for the carnival this afternoon. We’ll be there most of the day, so be prepared, you two. And no setting the snakes free, Haven.”

“It had never been to its homeland!” Haven protests. “How could I not set it free?”

Uncle Vernon looks at her imperiously. “Very easily. Let’s try not to do it again, especially if it will involve locking other children into the snake’s enclosure, hm?”

Haven sighs; Piers had been asking for it, sneaking up on her like that and pulling her braids as she was talking to the friendly boa in the snake house on Dudley’s birthday last month. She will never understand how Dudley and Piers became friends, but they get along well enough so long as she isn’t in the picture. “Okay,” she tells her uncle, and he nods in satisfaction.

“Open the one from me first,” Dudley demands. 

She does, and smiles at the green cover of the book inside. She has been hoping for a copy of _The Hobbit_ since she was accepted into Hogwarts; she wonders if Dragons are real, and if she’ll ever meet one if they are. “Thanks, Big D,” she tells her cousin, and laughs at the face he makes at the nickname. He knows it is less embarrassing than any of the ones his mother has for him, which is the only reason he lets her get away with calling him that.

Haven opens the rest of her gifts: ten pounds from Aunt Marge - less than a quarter of what Dudley had received for his birthday, but then Aunt Marge has never liked Haven, and this is rather generous for her - and a lovely green sundress from Aunt Petunia that she had coveted for months after seeing it in the window of a shop in London. There is a set of earrings - gold and ruby studs - from Uncle Vernon to match her necklace and bracelet, and a picture of a cat from Mrs Figg. The box she received in the mail contains a bag of lemon drops, which she promptly opens and shares with Dudley, who had gotten sherbet lemons from Mr Dumbledore for his birthday. Finally, all that is left of her pile is the old trunk.

“Around a week after McGonagall and Dumbledore left you with us, Dumbledore came back with this trunk; he told us that we were your remaining guardians, and that this trunk belonged to your mother. He said it would be best to give it to you for your eleventh birthday, and so it’s been sitting up in the attic, waiting for this day.” Aunt Petunia tells her.

Haven has heard most of this story before; when she was almost seven, she was being chased around the playground at school by some boys who had overheard Dudley yelling about her lack of parents, and had landed on top of the roof. Dudley, after finding out, had felt terrible about his part in her bullying. She had told Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon about her spectacular leap, and they’d sat down with her and told her that her parents had been magic, just like her, and that they had been killed by a bad man. Some of her parents’ friends had brought her to Privet Drive only a day later, and Aunt Petunia had accepted her with open arms, assuming that Haven would only stay for a week. Dumbledore had returned not long after with the news that her godparents were indisposed, and Aunt Petunia had promised to raise her. This is the first time this trunk has ever been mentioned, and Haven can’t wait to see what’s inside.

The trunk looks old; the wood is worn, and the silver clasp tarnished, but the lid opens up smoothly, the hinges fail to creak, and the inside smells like fresh cedar and parchment. The trunk is bigger inside than it seems from the outside, and has several compartments. Seven of the sections contain books, and Haven notices that the first section has at least one book on her list for Hogwarts. The eighth section contains several brown leather journals, the spines butter-smooth against the pads of her fingers. Beside that is a brown leather bag, which Haven opens to find more books, and these boast _The How-tos of Enchanting_ , and _Enchanting for Beginners_ , and _Advanced Enchanting_ in gold lettering that curls around the binding. In the final compartment, there is neatly folded fabric beneath two sticks; charcoal gray, red, gold, black and lacy white. Haven lifts out the top one, which unfolds to reveal a garment not dissimilar to the green one McGonagall had had over her arm when she visited.

“Those are robes,” Aunt Petunia tells her. “The gray one was for your mother’s work, and the red for your father’s. The gold one is something called a dress robe, the black one was for school. That white fabric was Lily’s wedding dress, I believe.”

“Thank you,” Haven tells her Aunt and Uncle. “I love it.”

They smile at her. “You’re welcome, but it wasn’t ours to give. This was always meant for you; it’s only right that you have it now, at the beginning of your next adventure.”

“Why don’t you take your gifts up to your room? Dudders will help you,” Aunt Petunia suggests. “Then get whatever you need for the carnival together. We’ll be leaving in an hour.”

“Okay,” Dudley and Haven reply in unison. They carry the items out of the kitchen one by one, lugging the trunk up to Haven’s room last and setting it down gently at the foot of her bed. Haven throws a bag for the carnival together before sitting down in front of the trunk and carefully tracing the lines and curves of it. She opens it again and pulls out a book from the first compartment - _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 1_ by Miranda Goshawk. The cover, like the trunk, is smooth and worn from use, and the book opens easily to show her mother’s name written inside the front cover.

 _There are two important parts to spell casting_ , the top of the first page reads. _First is the necessity of using correct pronunciation and emphasis; often, a spell will be more effective if the caster understands the intent behind it. Second is the correct wand motion. If either the pronunciation of the spell or the wand motion is incorrect, the spell will be ineffective._

Haven spends nearly half an hour reading, her attention caught by notes in the margins of the book in handwriting very similar to her own. _WinGARdium LeviOsa, swish and flick, intent,_ is written in the corner of the second page and circled with an arrow leading to another note written in a different hand, this one more spidery than her mother’s graceful loops. _Can be used to levitate humans_ , it says, _but not as effective as Levicorpus_. Haven traces over her mother’s writing wistfully and wishes she could remember her.

“Haven!” Aunt Petunia calls from downstairs. “Time to go.”

“Coming,” she replies, making her way to the front door, her bag over her shoulder. She makes her way to the car, throwing her bag into the boot alongside Dudley’s and a picnic basket. Uncle Vernon starts the car, and he backs out of the driveway as soon as Aunt Petunia joins them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diagon Alley, first meetings, a tiny bit of Wandlore, a ridiculous amount of OCs, and some more Dursley interaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who has read either 'Journals Through the Ages' or my 'doubtful hearts and sly minds' series, this story is compliant with the latter, and parts of the former. I didn't think to make a note of that until now, though it doesn't really matter; you don't need to read those to understand this - though if you do read them, I certainly won't complain.
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy, and if there are any terrible mistakes I missed while editing, feel free to let me know.

It is just before noon when there is finally a knock at the door. Haven rushes to open it, and is unsurprised to find Professor McGonagall once again standing on the front stoop.

“Good morning, Professor,” Haven greets her. McGonagall gives her a quick smile.

“Good morning, Miss Potter. Are you all ready to go?”

“Yes, I’ll just need to let Aunt Petunia know I’m leaving so that I can get some money for school supplies. Also, my mother left me copies of all the texts for this year except for _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, The Magical World in the 1900s Edition 8,_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts Edition 9._ Will I be able to use her copies of the books?

“Of course,” McGonagall replies. “You will need to procure copies of the books you do not have, of course, as well as all the other items you need from your list. I suggest you bring that page of your letter along. And you needn’t worry about money; your parents both had vaults with Gringotts, and your father in particular came from a wealthy family. The Headmaster has been holding your key, and I have it with me now. We will be stopping by Gringotts anyway to convert money, so you can go down to your trust vault then.”

“Oh, okay.” Haven turns toward the living room. “Aunt Petunia, I’m off to buy my supplies for school!”

“Do you need money?” Aunt Petunia calls back.

“No, Mum and Dad left me some.”

“Alright, dear. Have fun.”

Haven grins up at McGonagall as she hops onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her. “You said I’d be meeting some of my year-mates?”

“Yes. We will be collecting a few more of them momentarily, and then we will meet the rest of them in the Leaky Cauldron, where they will be waiting with Professors Sprout and Sinistra.”

“What do they teach?”

“Appropriately, Professor Sprout teaches Herbology, and Professor Sinistra teaches Astronomy.”

“Cool,” Haven offers half-heartedly, thinking that Herbology and Astronomy sound like they’ll be on the more boring side. After all, how magical can plants and stars possibly be?

McGonagall looks at her from the corner of her eye, her lips pursed. Haven avoids her gaze studiously until McGonagall holds out her arm. “Please hold on,” the Professor tells her. “And whatever you do, do not let go, no matter how unpleasant this feels.”

Haven grabs her arm, and with a sharp crack they are being folded up into tiny little pieces and shoved through an even tinier opening without any regard at all for their bones. The world remakes itself before her eyes, erasing the image of Privet Drive and replacing it with a dark alley within the space of a second.

“Ugh,” Haven groans, fighting the desire to throw up. “That was terrible, can we never do it again?”

“That was Apparition, which you will learn in your sixth year, so I regret to inform you that no, we cannot never do it again.”

“Gross,” Haven cannot help but pout. “Where are we, anyway?”

“We are now in Heathgate, Hampstead, where Miss Granger and her parents live. She is a Muggle-born witch, and is by all accounts extraordinarily studious. Having met the both of you, I believe you to be quite similar to each other in a variety of ways.”

“Let’s go meet her, then.”

They walk up to one of the houses, where McGonagall raps smartly against the door. Barely a second later, the door is opened by a girl Haven’s age as though she had been waiting for their arrival.

“Miss Granger, this is Miss Potter -”

“Call me Haven,” she interrupts, holding her hand out to the other girl and admiring the wild brown curls and brown eyes set in tanned skin.

“Hermione,” Granger returns, offering a shy smile displaying rather large front teeth. “It’s nice to meet you,” she adds as she shakes Haven’s hand firmly. 

“Anyways,” McGonagall says disapprovingly, frowning when Haven looks at her with big eyes. “She will be joining us as we collect the other students and head to the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Alright,” Hermione says amicably.

“Hold tight,” McGonagall tells them, and then Apparates again. When the world reforms around them, Haven and Hermione share a horrified look. 

“That was awful!” Hermione informs McGonagall once she has steadied herself. 

“So I’ve been told,” McGonagall says sourly, “by your new friend, incidentally.” She turns away from them to approach another house, this one belonging to Samantha “Call Me Sam” Greene. McGonagall does not Apparate again, instead throwing her right hand out over the street. A huge double-decker bus unfolds itself into existence, and they climb aboard. The resulting ride is an interesting mix of stomach-lurching stops and starts and excessive speed. Hermione stumbles off unhappily, and Sam is not much better. McGonagall steps onto the pavement of their destination with as much grace as usual. Haven leaps off the Knight Bus chattering happily. 

“It was like a rollercoaster,” she tells McGonagall. “It was amazing, will we be going on it again?”

McGonagall arches an eyebrow at her. “Why am I not surprised you liked that? You’ll probably join the Quidditch team in a few years and proceed to give everyone involved heart attacks.”

“What’s Quidditch?” Hermione asks before Haven can get the words out. Sam looks over in interest as they walk down the street. 

“Quidditch is a sport played on flying broomsticks. It has four balls and three goals per team. It is high adrenaline, and can be dangerous at times. I used to play on the Gryffindor team along with six of my Housemates.”

The game itself doesn’t sound fascinating, but… “Flying broomsticks?” Haven asks with interest.

“Indeed,” McGonagall replies smugly. “You will have flying classes this year, and as first-years aren’t allowed their own brooms, you may try out for your House’s Quidditch team in your second year.”

Hermione shudders. “I’ll keep my feet safely on the ground, thank you.”

“What?” Haven asks. “Flying is going to be the best class. Can you imagine? All that empty space around you, not confined to the ground, oh I can’t wait.”

Hermione looks at her like she’s mad. “Like I said, I’ll keep my feet on the ground.”

“No!” Haven gasps. “C’mon Sam, back me up here.”

Sam grimaces at her. “You’re crazy, girl. Flying does not sound appealing at all. Charms though? The name alone makes it seem like an awesome class. Just wait and see; it’ll be way better than Flying.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione says, “I think Potions or Transfiguration will be the best; think about it, Potions is going to be mixing things. What if you could create the Elixir of Life, like in _The Alchemist_? And Transfiguration? It’s like transmutation; scientists have theorized turning lead into gold, but I bet Wixen can actually _do_ it.”

A choked sound comes from McGonagall’s direction, though when they look at her she seems perfectly calm. “Both of those things are possible, but both are in the field of Alchemy, and fewer Wixen than you might think have an affinity for Alchemy. Here we are,” she adds, turning her back to knock on the door as Hermione’s face falls.

They are joined by twins, both pretty with dark hair. Niamh, Haven tells herself, has brown eyes while Roisin has blue.

McGonagall summons the Knight Bus again, and Hermione, in what Haven assumes is an effort to distract herself from the choppy motion, resumes the conversation from earlier. “How do you know if you have an affinity for Alchemy?” she asks. 

“It’s not always a sure thing, but sometimes you can tell what your affinity is by what classes you’re interested in, or what subjects you find yourself researching. However, some people are naturally interested in everything, and so their interests are not indicative of their affinity. The only way to really know for certain what your affinity is is to wait for your sixteenth birthday; you will present then, and your specialized magic will settle until sixth year begins, at which time you will begin training in that field.”

“So you don’t get to pick?” Roisin asks, and looks almost as disappointed as Hermione does when McGonagall shakes her head negatively.

“So what affinities are there?” Sam asks. 

“Oh, there are too many to list out, really. I can tell you some of the more common ones, but I’d recommend reading through _Magical Affinities_ for the complete list of affinities and their descriptions. Alchemy is fairly uncommon, but is nevertheless one of the best known, if only because Nicolas Flamel - who is over six hundred years old - and Albus Dumbledore - who has nearly as many accomplishments as Flamel and is the Headmaster of Hogwarts - are both Alchemists, and Flamel is known for being the first wizard to create a Philosopher’s Stone, which accounts for his age. 

“In addition to Alchemy, a very common affinity is Enchanting, followed by Chthonian Sorcery and Chaos magic. Dianic and Ceremonial are fairly common, as well. Necromancy has gotten less common over the centuries, but is even more well known than Alchemy. Healers and Inyanga are fairly common, and Telepaths are also well known, though they are less common. Left-Handers are also fairly common, and many of them go on to become Aurors or Curse-Breakers: Bill Weasley and Sirius Black are both Left-Handers, and Weasley is a Curse-Breaker as of a few years ago, while Black was an Auror.”

They step off the Knight Bus once again. “What affinity are you?” Niamh asks curiously.

“I,” McGonagall says with no small amount of pride, “am a Conjuror. I was always rather good at Transfiguration, the best in my year, even, and then we started Conjuring and Banishment, and _that_ was where I truly excelled.” She knocks on the front door of the house they’ve stopped in front of. It is bright red, Haven notices with approval, and opens to reveal a boy her age with hair darker and wilder than even Hermione’s, and black eyes, and skin only slightly darker than a bar of milk chocolate.

“Hi Professor!” He chirps. I’ll let Mum and Dad know you’re here, and Cheyenne will be along in just a minute. The door closes, and opens again less than a minute later to show the same boy, now accompanied by a girl several shades lighter than him with her hair dyed pink and blue an inch from her dark roots.

“I love your hair,” Roisin tells Cheyenne, peering at it carefully. 

“Oh thank you! Danny,” she gestures towards the boy - presumably Danny - over her shoulder, “did it for me about a month ago. I tried to convince him to dye his hair as well, but he told me that ‘we already don’t match so there’s no point in forcing it.’”

“You did a good job,” Niamh says, and Haven sees Sam and Hermione agreeing with her.

Danny smiles fondly at Cheyenne. “I couldn’t let my little sister look like a train wreck with no one to blame it on, could I?”

Cheyenne scowls at him and says, with the air of someone who has had this exact argument a dozen times over, “Thirty minutes does not make me your little sister, Danny. We’re _twins_.”

“And I’m the _older_ twin,” he returns in what Haven thinks is a perfectly reasonable voice.

McGonagall interrupts what is beginning to look like a full on argument; she holds out her right hand, and the Knight Bus appears once more. Hermione and Sam groan, stepping on unhappily as McGonagall gives the driver their destination. “The Leaky Cauldron,” she says primly. 

“There has _got_ to be a better method of transportation,” Hermione says miserably. “This is a death trap; that’s why it’s called the Knight Bus, you know: you get on and you go nighty night.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Haven tells her, poking Hermione in the ribs. She jumps and sticks her tongue out. 

“Excuse me for having a sense of self-preservation. It’s not natural how much you like this ride when even Apparition is better.”

“Rude,” Haven says, but doesn’t bother refuting Hermione’s statement; she had literally flown off of a swing and into the air and through the trees, twisting and turning through the air, when she was only seven, after all. It had been intentional, too, she remembers; it hadn’t been long after Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had told her about her magic, though they had made her promise to be cautious when they’d found out. She supposes that self-preservation is just not one of the words in her personal dictionary.

“We will be meeting Professors Sprout and Sinistra at the Leaky Cauldron,” McGonagall tells them. “They will have the rest of the Muggle-born or raised students with them. There are around eighty of you, so we will be unable to supervise you for the entire trip. We have decided that we will give you a list of shops you will need to go to for your school supplies; you will be put in groups, and you will be expected to stay with your group at all times. Additionally, you will be meeting us back at the Leaky Cauldron at a specified time. Other than these guidelines, you will be free to roam after leaving Gringotts, which we will attend you for.”

Haven tries to tamp down the excitement rising in her chest. She can’t wait to explore the magical hub she has come to believe Diagon Alley is.

The Knight Bus stops in front of the Leaky Cauldron, and they all file off. Danny nudges Haven’s shoulder as they do so, saying, “That was quite a trip, huh?”

“Yeah,” Haven sighs. “I can’t wait to do it again.”

Danny grins at her, a dimple pressing into his cheek, and then he moves ahead to join Cheyenne, who is talking to Sam.

The Leaky Cauldron doesn’t look like much from the outside; it is dark and dank, and the once white lettering is peeling off the side of the building. Haven follows McGonagall to the entrance, watching interestedly as the people hurrying along the busy London streets pay the ugly storefront no mind, their eyes sliding off it after less than a second. “Don’t they see it?” she wonders aloud. 

“The Leaky Cauldron is Warded with Muggle-Repelling Charms, among other things. This is one of the entrances to the Wixen World and has been ever since the Statue of Secrecy was created.” McGonagall replies, opening the door and motioning them in. 

The inside of the Leaky isn’t much better than the outside, and Haven begins to think that the entirety of the Magical World is going to be gloomy and colorless. The tables are dusty, and several of them have glass mugs towering haphazardly in stacks. The chairs are old and rickety and made of mismatched wood. Only a few of them are occupied, and the people - Wixen, Haven corrects herself - sitting in them look just as disreputable as the establishment they are in.

“Minerva,” a woman calls from behind them. “We’re all over here.”

McGonagall turns at the sound of the voice and strides over to a dumpy woman with flyaway brown hair and kind eyes. “Good afternoon, Pomona,” she says. “Children, this is Professor Sprout; she teaches Herbology. Professor Sinistra,” she gestured to a young woman with her blonde hair in a tight braid, “teaches Astronomy.”

“Professor McGonagall,” Sinistra adds in a cultured tone, “teaches Transfigurations.”

“Now,” Professor Sprout says jovially, “it’s time to get you all into groups; you’ll be splitting off on your own after we stop at Gringotts to exchange money, and you are expected to remain with your groups throughout the shopping expedition.”

Haven ends up in a group with Roisin and Danny, and they are joined by Justin Finch-Fletchley, Kennedy Williams, Tony Fox, Will Rose, Gabriel Deverill and Violet Evans. Hermione and Sam are put with Niamh and Cheyenne, and are joined by several other Muggle-borns. The other groups are a mix of people that Haven has not met yet. 

The Professors lead them to the back of the Leaky Cauldron, and Professor McGonagall proceeds to tap five bricks on the wall.

“That pattern was the shape of an M,” Hermione notices as the wall folds in on itself. “M for magic, I’d bet.”

“Very good, Miss Granger,” McGonagall replies. “That’s exactly right. Now, welcome to Diagon Alley.” She gestures to the street on the other side of the doorway, and Haven cannot help her gasp. 

Diagon Alley is stunning; the cobblestones that line the wide, winding street are in every color of the rainbow and then some and are diligently placed in some sort of swirling pattern that Haven can’t quite make out, but is awed by all the same. Directly across from where they stand is a magnificent building made of white marble and gilded with delicate gold scenes. Above the entrance, Gringotts is written in the same masterful style as the images that almost seem to move and glitter beneath the sun. Along either side of Gringotts there are colorful storefronts in all shapes and sizes. Some look older than others, but all of them are bright and pristine, the colors as vivid as though they’d just been painted, and any windows are clean and neat and advertising various products. 

What really catches Haven’s attention is the people. Wixen stroll leisurely down Diagon, their hair neat - many of the men have their hair grown out and tied back from their faces in a low tail, and many of the women have it pulled up into complicated buns and braids - and shining. Haven notices that none of them seem to have dull hair, it is all shining chestnut or glossy black or burnished copper or flaming red or deep wine or glistening gold. The majority of them are in long robes in an assortment of hues, and several women wear old-fashioned dresses not unlike the ones from the seventeenth century section of a museum, while the men wear breeches and stockings and billowing shirts.

“I feel like I’ve gone back in time,” Sam whispers in an awed voice. “Their clothing is high quality, but it’s so old fashioned in comparison to what we’re used to. The dresses, you see? And the breeches? No one dresses like that anymore.”

“It is due to the Statue of Secrecy,” Sprout tells her as they make their way across the street to Gringotts. “Muggles are unable to enter the pocket of the Wixen World, and while Wixen are able to go in and out, few choose to do so. We have grown stagnant. There are fewer technological advancements now, and this has been the way of things since the Statue was implemented in the early sixteen-hundreds.”

“Will _we_ be expected to wear this kind of clothing?” a girl with strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes - Violet Evans, Haven reminds herself - asks with a kind of fascinated horror.

McGonagall purses her lips. “No. While at Hogwarts, you may wear whatever you desire so long as you wear your school robes during lessons.”

“Okay,” Violet says with relief, and several of the girls sigh in agreement.

Haven follows McGonagall up the smooth steps to the doors of Gringotts. At either side are two heavily armoured guards with beady black eyes.

“These are the Goblins of Gringotts,” McGonagall tells them. “They run the bank and keep our money in our vaults for us.”

Haven nods at them briefly, her eyes skimming over the golden words by the doors to focus on the images. The golden filigree depicts a battle between the Goblins and Wixen, and Haven cannot help but admire the detail with which the scenes are painted.

She nudges Hermione. “Look at these,” she says quietly. “Look at all that detail; whoever painted these was amazingly talented.” As she watches, the images come to life, still silent, but the Goblins charge formats on their chariots and the Wixen shoot blinding spells from their wands. “Woah,” Haven breathes. “That’s awesome.”

Hermione flicks a brief glance at the images, frowning in interest, before she follows the Professors inside Gringotts, dragging Haven with her.

The inside of Gringotts is no less impressive than the outside. Metal Goblins protrude from the walls, some of them wielding swords, some with magic emanating from their hands, and one wearing an ornate crown on its head. Every single one of the Goblins wears a fierce expression frozen on its brilliant gold face. The floor is a clean white marble shot through with veins of gold that seem to lead to a large counter behind which several Goblins - these ones unarmoured - sit. 

There are lines of Wixen in front of each teller, patiently waiting their turn. Hermione tugs Haven into a line behind McGonagall. They end up standing beside an older woman wearing fancy purple robes and a vulture hat and a boy their own age with blond hair.

“That’s an impressive hat,” Haven says aloud. Hermione shushes her furiously. 

“Don’t be rude, Haven!”

“I was just admiring this lady’s hat. There’s a _vulture_ on it, Hermione. You don’t see hats like this every day.”

The woman turns around and smiles down at them. “Why thank you,” she says. “It was a gift from my son ten years ago; he always said I should give people _some_ warning as to what I was like.”

“It looks like it was a real vulture,” Hermione says hesitantly.

“Oh, it was,” the woman replies. “Frank had it stuffed and put onto this hat for me. Good eye, young lady.” She holds her hand out for Hermione to shake, adding, “Augusta Longbottom.”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Haven Potter,” Haven adds when Mrs Longbottom turns a sharp eye in her direction.

Mrs Longbottom smiles warmly. “Welcome back, Miss Potter. My daughter-in-law, Neville’s mother,” she gestures to the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy next to her, “was your godmother, and your mother was Neville’s.”

“Really?” Haven asks. “I didn’t know that. It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs Longbottom. You too, Neville.” 

Neville smiles shyly at her and shakes her hand. “It’s good to see you, Haven.”

“Oh, please,” Mrs Longbottom says imperiously. “None of this formality! You must call me Gran, Haven dear. Neville does, after all, and you’re practically family. Who are you with, Haven?”

“Hermione and I are with the rest of the Muggle-raised students. Professors McGonagall, Sprout and Sinistra are supervising us.”

“How lovely,” Gran says. “I must go say hello to Minerva. Be a good boy, Neville, and hold our place in line. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” With that, she strides purposefully between the two lines and taps McGonagall on the shoulder. The two women descend into an intense conversation. 

Haven turns to Neville. “So are you going to Hogwarts this year?”

“Yes,” he replies. “Gran has been talking about it for years.”

“I know nothing about Hogwarts yet,” Haven tells him, and Hermione nods in agreement. “Can you tell us about it?”

“Hogwarts has four Houses - Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each House has its own Quidditch team, and you share classes with the other Houses. The year groups are pretty big, so they split up the Houses and mix and match them hoping for Inter-House unity. Apparently that’s been less common since You-Know-Who’s reign of terror.”

“You-Know-Who?” Hermione interrupts. “Who’s that?”

Neville shifts uncomfortably, looking nervously over his shoulder as though he expects someone to pop up behind him without his knowledge. “His name was Lord V-V-Voldemort.” 

Hermione looks unimpressed. “Was he French?”

“No?”

“So he chose a name that means flight from death.”

“Uh… I guess so? Anyway, You-Know-Who was the leader of the Death Eaters.”

“Oh brilliant,” Hermione interrupts sarcastically. He flees from death and his followers eat it. How clever.”

“He wanted to close the Wixen World to Muggle-borns and Half-bloods.” Neville continues, ignoring Hermione’s interruption. “He killed a lot of people because they didn’t have pure enough blood or because they didn’t support his cause, because he, among many others, believed that Muggles and Muggle-borns are inferior to Pure-bloods. Half-bloods, too,” he says, nodding to her, “but to a lesser extent. Um… he tried to kill you,” he tells Haven. “Obviously he didn’t succeed, but your parents died that night, and so did he. You’re known as the Girl-Who-Lived or the Safe Haven because you defeated You-Know-Who and saved the Wixen World from his regime.”

“The Safe Haven?” she cannot help asking. “That’s a terrible title. And besides, I can’t even remember it happening. How do they know I even did anything? Maybe You-Know-Who ran away.”

Neville shrugs. “They say you got your scar from his attack, and his robes and wand were there on the ground. Wixen don’t just leave their wands lying around. But I don’t know. They say you defeated him, and now you’re famous.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Haven informs him flatly.

Neville smiles weakly at her. “Unfortunately for you, it’s the truth.”

Gran comes back, startling Neville. “Haven,” she says, “you’ll be coming with Neville and I to get money from your vault. Then you’ll come join your friends for the rest of your trip. Minerva has agreed to this arrangement.”

Haven looks over to McGonagall, who nods regally at her. “Okay,” she tells Gran, who smiles in satisfaction. They move up the line, and are finally in front of a teller. 

“These are the keys for the Longbottom and Potter vaults,” she tells the Goblin. “We wish to make a withdrawal for school shopping.”

The Goblin nods at her. “Griphook!” he shouts. “Please take the Longbottoms and Miss Potter to their trust vaults.”

“Yes, Gornuk,” Griphook replies as he makes his way briskly to their side of the counter. “Follow me,” he demands impatiently, and Haven and Neville follow alongside Gran, who swans past the lines of Wixen as she follows Griphook to a narrow hallway with a high ceiling.

Griphook ushers the three of them down the torch-lit labyrinth until they reach something like train tracks. Haven looks with intense interest at the cart resting in front of them. “Everyone in,” Griphook tells them. “Keep your arms and legs inside the cart at all times; the Goblins of Gringotts will not be held responsible for the loss of life or limb.” With that, Griphook releases the lever that had been keeping them in place, and the cart tears down the tracks at interminable speeds.

Left, right, straight, left, left, a U-turn, ninety-degree angle, right, left. Haven tries to keep track of the turns the cart makes, but loses it after a few minutes. She claps a hand over her mouth to keep her dream of joy from escaping after a particularly steep downward slope which increases their velocity to the point that the wind tears tears from her eyes.

Too soon, the cart stops in front of a vault. Gran and Neville get out of the cart on unsteady feet and unlock it. Neville disappears into the vault and comes back out a moment later with a heavy leather bag. He shows her the contents. “Galleons are the gold ones, Sickles are silver, and Knuts are bronze.”

On one side of the coins, an image of Gringotts is stamped into it. On the other side is an image of the same Goblin from the metal statues. The one with the crown, Haven thinks. The detail is once again incredible, and she wonders if that is simply a staple of the Goblin race.

Gran and Neville load themselves back into the cart, and it sets off once again. They arrive at Haven’s vault, and she goes in alone. 

Inside her vault, there are mountains of Galleons and Sickles and Knuts. She peers around, trying to see if there is anything other than money, but there isn’t. She scoops handfuls of coins into a leather bag of her own and makes her way out of the vault, fighting the feeling of disappointment.

“What is a trust vault?” Haven shouts over the tearing winds of the cart ride.

“It is a specific amount of money set aside for a member of the family. It is connected to the main vault, and anything left in it will return to the main vault after the death of the recipient of the trust vault. The family vault might have heirlooms inside it, along with whatever fortune the family has compiled, but it cannot be accessed by family members until they are of age.” Gran tells her. “You will be able to visit your family vault once you are considered an adult, and then you will be able to explore the contents of your family history.”

“Okay,” Haven replies. She will only have to wait seven more years to see what her family has left behind. She wonders what kinds of things will be in the Potter vault, but she can’t even begin to guess.

“Haven!” Hermione calls once she and the Longbottoms emerge from the hallway. “We’re getting with our groups now. I think yours is over by the statue of the Goblin King.”

Sure enough, when Haven looks over to the Goblin King, Danny and Roisin are standing with Violet and several others. Haven assumes that the faces she doesn’t recognize are the rest of her group, so she waves in Hermione’s direction, saying, “Have fun!” before heading over to join her group. 

Neville walks over with her, saying, “It’ll be nice to meet some people before going to Hogwarts. I really only know the people who grew up here, and they have their own friends. I’ll introduce you to my friends on the train. I think you’ll like Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. The Greengrasses are also worth knowing.”

“Okay,” Haven agrees. “Neville, she says, this is Danny King and Roisin Gage - they have twins who are over in Hermione’s group. That’s Violet Evans, and I haven’t met everyone else, but this is Neville Longbottom, and I’m Haven Potter.”

“I’m Justin Finch-Fletchly,” says a boy with chocolatey curls and a posh accent. “That’s Kennedy Williams,” he says of a tall, stunning girl with gray eyes and dark skin. “Tony Fox,” Justin points to a boy with straight black hair and brown eyes. “Will Rose,” has caramel blond waves and stormy blue eyes, and “Gabriel Deverill,” has shaggy hair almost dark enough to be called black, light green eyes and dimples.

“Professor McGonagall was telling us that we could head out just as soon as you got back,” Justin tells Haven. “She gave Tony here the list of shops we should visit for our supplies, said to keep away from Knockturn Alley, and that if we finish shopping before sunset we can continue exploring so long as we’re back at the Leaky before dark.”

“Sounds good,” Haven says cheerfully. Where to first?”

“We were thinking Madam Malkin’s first,” Danny says. “Get the clothing out of the way.”

Everyone agrees, and Haven waves goodbye to Neville and Gran before following her group out the doors of the bank.

“My mother’s last name was Evans,” Haven tells Violet. “D’you think we might be related somehow?”

“Maybe,” Violet says doubtfully. “I don’t really know. My parents don’t really talk about their family much, and my grandfather - when he was still alive - refused to say much more than that he had an older brother once upon a time.”

“My grandfather’s name was Henry,” Haven offers. “He died before I was born, but I think Aunt Petunia’s mentioned that he had a brother.”

“Maybe,” Violet says again. “I don’t really know. I suppose it’s possible we’re related, but Evans is a pretty common last name. There’s really no knowing, is there?”

“Guess not,” Haven agrees, “but it’d be pretty cool if we were cousins, wouldn’t it?”

“It would. I suppose we’ll just have to settle for being friends since we can’t find out for certain.” Violet says hesitantly.

Haven grins at her. “Of course we can.”

“Oi, look up ahead,” Gabriel calls, pointing directly in front of them. “Madam Malkin’s is up there, a little to the left.”

Haven grabs Violet’s wrist and pulls her forward to walk with the rest of the group. They make their way to the robes shop, and Justin pulls open the door to let them through.

“Hogwarts?” a bored looking woman asks. 

“Yes, please,” Kennedy replies. “First year.”

“Alright dearies, follow me.”

They do, and she leads them into a room with several raised platforms. One of them is occupied by a boy their age. He has a rather pinched face and hair on the more silver end of blond. There is a tape measure floating around him, darting in as Haven watches. After a moment, it flies over to the woman, who catches it and tosses it into an open doorway. 

The woman gestures Haven and her group onto platforms of their own, and more tape measures fly out to attack them. She leaves the room for a moment, and the blond boy turns to them.

“Muggle-borns,” he sneers when he takes in their bewildered gazes.

“Excuse you?” Haven says icily.

“Oh, nothing,” he returns airily. “You can just always tell Muggle-borns apart from the rest of us; they have that sickening awestruck look in their eyes whenever they see magic, like they didn’t steal it from decent Wixen.”

“Decent Wixen?” Haven asks flatly.

“Pure-bloods,” he replies. “Every year, more squibs are born into Pure-blood families, and every year brings more Muggle-borns into the Wixen World. You’re stealing our magic.”

Haven rolls her eyes. “That makes no sense. Pure-bloods aren’t the only ones born with magic.”

“Then how do you explain second-rate Wixen gaining magic when their parents didn’t have any?”

“I don’t know. How does one steal magic?”

“ _I_ don’t know,” he mimics her. “Only Muggles can do that, Wixen haven’t figured out how yet.”

“So Muggles are superior to Wixen?”

“No!” 

“But you _just_ said they were,” Kennedy interrupts. “You said Muggles knew how to steal magic when Wixen didn’t. How is that not superior?”

The boy opens his mouth, then shuts it. “Muggles,” he says with an air of superiority, “and their offspring are no better than livestock.” With that, he lifts his nose into the air and flounces out of the room.

“Good talk!” Danny shouts after him.

The woman from earlier comes back into the room holding several bags. “These are your robes and cloaks. I’ll shrink the bags down for you so you can put them in your pockets. When you get your wand, just tap the bags with it and they will return to their original size. Have a nice day.” And with that, she shrinks their bags and shoos them out of the shop.

“Well,” says Violet, “I know who I’m not befriending. He wasn’t very nice, was he?”

“Nope,” Tony replies, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “Can’t say I’m too disappointed. He seemed a bit poncey to me.”

“Where do you guys want to go next?” Danny asks, looking down at the list he had stolen from Tony.

“I was thinking maybe we could get our cauldrons and potions stuff now; get that outta the way. Then maybe the Dragonhide boots and gloves? Or d’you think those’ll be with the cauldrons? Maybe they’re for potions - I bet they’re easy to screw up,” Justin says thoughtfully.

Kennedy looks at him. “You’re crazy. Potions has got to be easy; it’s probably like cooking: just follow the recipe.”

“I bet you’ve never managed to burn water before,” Justin says mournfully. “If I struggle in any class, it’ll be Potions; one hundred percent guarantee.”

“How do you burn water?” Kennedy demands. “I’ve heard of it happening, but I’ve never managed to do it, even when I tried. I thought it was an exaggeration.”

“Nah man,” Will says. “I’ve seen my Pa do it before. He’s actually incapable of making himself a cup of tea, and don’t even talk to me about actual food. I don’t know how he does it, but Justin’s not making it up.”

Kennedy looks at the boys dubiously. “If you say so,” she says, not at all convinced.

“I do,” Justin replies cheerfully. “So, is everyone in agreement? Cauldrons and ingredients next?”

“Potage’s Cauldron Shop and the Apothecary,” Danny confirms, looking at his list. “Sounds good.”

They make their way to the cauldron shop, and it’s a quick in and out, one cauldron each, standard two, pewter, but Haven can see everyone admiring the gold cauldrons and the ones made of faceted crystal, hardly able to tear their eyes away as they move on to the Apothecary.

The outside of the Apothecary - only a few shops down from the cauldron shop - is perhaps the dingiest and most disreputable storefront on Diagon, with muted, peeling paint and dust collecting on the window frames. The inside, though, is spotless, the grinding pestles and silver knives gleaming, the shelves dust free, the barrels and baskets and tins and compartments filled with what Haven and the others are assured are the best of the best ingredients, kept cool in the rather chilly store.

It is as the shopkeeper is leading them to the back shelves, where the first-year Potions kits are kept, that Haven notices them. It is a group of five red-headed boys, one around Haven’s own age and the rest older, standing in a huddle.

“Mum said to only get the Potions stuff on the list, nothing more,” the oldest boy says.

“But Charlie,” one of the younger boys begins.

“Just think,” his brother - they’re twins, Haven realises - butts in.

“Of all,”

“The pranks,”

“Awasting,”

“If we don’t do our sworn duty as pranksters,” they finish together, finally allowing Haven to stop glancing between them every few words.

“As Prefect,” another boy jumps in, this one a year or two older than the twins, “I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t even put up a token protest against it. But,” he adds, a sly smile creeping across his freckled face, “it would be amusing if something could throw Snape off-kilter in the Great Hall.”

“And,” says the twin on the right, “it’s Ronnie’s first year.”

“No,” says the oldest brother - Charlie - his face becoming deadly serious.

“We’ve gotta do something to make it memorable!” the second twin agrees gleefully.

“Absolutely not,” Charlie replies. “Don’t even think about it, Fred. You neither George. I don’t want to get letters from Ron about how you’ve turned him into a penguin, or shaved his eyebrows and painted him green.”

“All these ideas, Gred!” says the first twin, who must be Fred.

“And no one to use them on,” therefore-George bemoans. “Such cruelty cannot be borne!”

“What is _this_?” Violet asks out of the blue, startling Haven. “An eighteenth century soap opera?”

Haven tries and fails to stifle her startled laugh, and the boys all look up at her in unison.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s rude to eavesdrop?” Fred asks jokingly.

“No, but my aunt did,” Haven replies. “She’s also a huge fan of the saying ‘do as I say, not as I do,’ though, because she likes to listen in on our neighbors’ conversations. I guess I’ve developed some of her habits.”

“Oh I like her Forge,” George says. “I’m George Weasley,” he tells her. “Fred over there is the less funny, less handsome version of me, born only slightly earlier. Mum and Dad were saving all the good stuff for me,” he adds confidingly.

“Haven Potter,” Haven offers. “And who told you that?”

“Are you really - ” Ron begins, his eyes flicking up to her forehead, before Charlie elbows him in the ribs.

“We are going to be the best of friends, Haven,” Fred says over Ron’s aborted question. “These here are some of mine and George’s siblings. Ronnie is starting at Hogwarts this year, Percy is a fifth year and a Prefect. Charlie just finished school last June and is going to be starting his training at a Dragon Reserve in Romania next week.”

“Dragons are real?” Violet asks excitedly.

“Indeed they are, miss…” Charlie replies.

“Oh! Violet. Violet Evans,” Violet says in answer to his silent question. “And those are Danny King and Kennedy Williams,” she adds, turning to point to where their group is grabbing Potions kits. “Tony Fox, Will Rose and Justin Finch-Fletchly,” the boys wave to the Weasleys, “and Roisin Gage is over there, by the barrel of newt eyes.”

“Ickle firsties,” George says mischievously, “are you looking forward to having to fight a Troll for your Sorting?”

“George,” Charlie says sternly as Ron’s eyes widen.

“We have to wrestle a Troll?” he asks worriedly.

“Oh yes,” Fred tells his brother sagely. “Don’t you remember when we did it, Gred?”

“Seems like ages ago,” George replies boredly.

“Oh be quiet,” Percy says with exasperation. “No one’s going to be wrestling Trolls, and especially not for their Sorting. It’s nothing to worry about,” he reassures them.

The twins pout. “You ruin all our fun, Perce.”

“I do,” Percy agrees, rolling his eyes. “In fact, I never let you get away with anything at all. How terrible of me.”

“Yes,” Fred says dramatically, “ever since we got our letters and you found out you’d been made Prefect, you’ve been a real stickler for the rules.”

“This isn’t you,” George adds mournfully. “You used to be fun, but now all you’re interested in is stifling our creativity. Soon you’ll spend your days writing about the thickness of cauldron bottoms.”

“Yes, well,” Percy replies blandly, “I’ve got to practice rule enforcement on someone. Wouldn’t want McGonagall to reassess the situation and give Oliver the Prefect badge. He’d insist on Quidditch practice for the entirety of Gryffindor, every hour of the day, regardless of placement on the team.”

Fred and George shudder. “Yes. It’s a good thing McGonagall’s got such good taste, i’n’it. Good old McGonagall, she did us a real favour, not subjecting us to Ollie’s rule.” Fred says with real relief.

“He’s got an iron thumb, that one does,” George adds.

Haven wonders who this Oliver person is, and if he’s really as bad as the twins and Percy make him seem.

“As fascinating as this character study of Wood is,” Charlie breaks in, “we need to get going. Mum wants us home for dinner.”

“Already?” Ron asks. “We haven't even gotten our stuff yet.”

“Yours is over there,” Charlie tells him, pointing. “Meet us at the counter, okay?”

“Alright,” Ron replies. “Bye,” he tells Haven and her group, waving. Haven waves back, turning to grab her Potions kit and shell out the money required.

“Books next, d’you think? Kennedy suggests once the Weasleys have left.

Danny hums in agreement. “Flourish and Blotts, comin’ right up.”

“I liked them,” Tony says as they walk down the colourful street. “They were friendly, and they weren’t like that boy in Madam Malkin’s, even though I’m pretty sure they realised we’re Muggle-borns.”

“Yeah,” Will agrees. “They seemed cool. What do you think was Ron gonna ask, though, before the oldest one shut him up?”

“No clue,” Haven says, wondering if it might have to do with her being the ‘Safe Haven,’ or her supposed fame.

Flourish and Blotts is chaotic. Haven doesn’t know how anyone manages to find anything. There are two floors, though the second is only partial, and has rickety ladders going up to it. The ceilings are high, and there are mountains of books all over the floor. There are also shelves, filled past capacity, with books and pamphlets crammed into random crevasses. Some of the shelves have peeling yellow labels that read _Ancient Runes,_ or _Defense Against the Dark Arts,_ or _Care of Magical Creatures,_ or _Wixen World History,_ and Haven thinks for a moment that maybe finding the required books won’t be such a feat, after all.

She quickly loses hope after finding a book called _The History of the Merfolk_ amongst books about Transfiguration in the section boasting _Herbology._ She blows out an exasperated breath. “How the heck are you supposed to find _anything_ in here?” she asks Hermione, who looks as overwhelmed as Haven feels.

“Typically,” a put-upon voice from the right says, and Haven and Hermione both turn to look at the speaker - a bulky brunet boy with dark eyes and crooked teeth, who looks to be about the same age as Percy the Prefect, “one might use the book by the counter to find the textbooks one needs.”

Haven and Hermione exchange perplexed looks. “What Marcus means to say,” says Marcus’ friend, who is tall and broad, with sandy curls and brown eyes, “is that you can write down the titles of the books you need, and it will tell you where to find them. Dumbass,” he adds under his breath, and delivers a swift kick to Marcus’ ankle when he sneers at the insult.

“Let them figure it out themselves,” Marcus mutters to his friend. “If they’re Muggle-borns, they need to figure out how things work here. We can’t just _give_ them all the answers.”

“They can hear us, Marcus. Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?” He turns to face them. “I’m Cassius Warrington. That prick is Marcus Flint. Follow me, I’ll show you how to work the book.”

The girls step behind him, following in the path he clears as he shoulders his way through the throng. Marcus walks behind them, and when they get into the line to use the book, he stands there stoically, not saying anything, and frowning severely.

“So,” Cassius says, shifting his position to see Haven and Hermione as well as the slow-moving line, “ _are_ you guys Muggle-born?”

“No,” Hermione snaps sarcastically. “I’ve obviously been here hundreds of times before. Couldn’t you tell?”

Cassius laughs heartily. “No need to be such a Hippogriff. I was just asking a question. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Sorry,” Haven finds herself apologizing for her friend. “We had a run-in earlier with someone who spent the entire conversation demeaning Muggle-borns, saying that they stole their magic from _real_ witches and wizards.” She snorts. “As if it’s possible to steal a person’s magic.”

“Must’ve been a Malfoy,” Cassius nods sagely. “Malfoy Senior likes to spout that propaganda everywhere he goes. My father always complains about it at dinner.”

They inch forward slightly. “Also,” Cassius says, his face curious, “you said ‘they’ and not ‘we.’ Are you not a Muggle-born?”

“Muggle-raised,” Haven admits, and introduces herself.

Cassius laughs again, a loud, boisterous thing that has him tossing his head back. This time, Marcus joins in with raspy chuckles. “If that really was Malfoy talking to you, he’s gonna be real unhappy come the train-ride. He’s supposed to make nice with you, and now he’s gone and insulted you and your friends. _Merlin_. Okay.” He pulls himself back together, though his smile remains. “A word to the wise: if Malfoy approaches you to grovel, let him, and accept his apology. He’ll feel like he owes you. His family is very influential, and he can probably make school miserable for you if you don’t.”

Haven scowls. “I’ll think about it.” She won’t, but they don’t need to know that.

Cassius looks at her calculatingly. “No you won’t,” he decides. “You seem like you can hold a grudge with the best of them.”

She stares him down, not disagreeing.

“Definitely a Gryffindor,” Marcus says with surety.

Cassius tilts his head in thought, twisting his mouth. “Hm. Maybe. Could be Hufflepuff, too.”

“Her?” Marcus asks incredulously. “No way, Cass. Look at her _face._ She’s one-hundred per cent a Gryffindor. Hufflepuffs are way more forgiving.”

“But she’s protective of her friends. That’s a Hufflepuff trait,” he argues.

“She can have Hufflepuff _traits._ But she’ll still be in Gryffindor. Just wait and see.”

“When I’m right, you have to hand over the Captain’s badge,” Cassius bargains.

“And when I’m right - which I am, and you know it, which is why you went for such a ridiculous bargain - _you_ get to convince Percy Weasley to tutor me in Potions,” Marcus counters.

Cassius groans. “Deal.” Haven watches them shake on it.

“Would you two like to bet on where I’ll be as well, or would you like to show us how to work the ledger?” Hermione asks, raising an eyebrow and gesturing to where the person in front of them is stepping away from the massive tome on the counter.

“Ravenclaw,” Marcus and Cassius say in unison, stepping forward.

Haven and Hermione stand in front of the book, the boys flanking them.

“What you do,” Cassius tells them, smirking at the way Hermione watches him raptly, “is write the name of the works you’re looking for. This baby will search the store, and it’ll write down what section it’s currently under. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but nothing’s where it should be in here.”

Hermione reaches for the quill beside the book. She picks it up with two fingers and stares at it disdainfully. “Do we really have to use a _quill?_ ”

“What else would you use?” Marcus asks innocently.

“Oh, I don’t know. A _pen,_ maybe?” Her tone is scathing, and Haven presses her lips together to prevent a smile from showing itself.

“What’s a pen?” Cassius asks, inserting himself back into the conversation with ease.

Hermione glares up at him. “A writing utensil that is far superior to the quill. I know that you two have grown up in the seventeenth century, but I have not.” With that, she pulls a black pen from her pocket, clicks it once, and begins scribbling the titles from the supply list onto the page.

“Definitely Ravenclaw,” Marcus reiterates. “But imagine if she were Slytherin.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Cassius says in a stage whisper.

Hermione finishes her writing with a flourish, and watches as ink scrawls itself onto the parchment. “Come on then,” she says with a sniff, marching off to find her books. Haven follows her, waving to Marcus and Cassius. They step up to the counter to pay for the volumes balanced in their arms, waving in reply.

Hermione disappears around a corner, and Haven follows her quickly, looking for the rest of the books she needs.

Haven finds the few books she needs that her mother hadn’t kept in her trunk, in the same section, and waits patiently for the rest of her group to collect the towering stacks of texts that are required. Hermione sits beside her on one of the stockpiles of texts taking up floor space, her nose stuck in _The Magical World in the 1900s Edition 8._

“Wands next?” Danny asks, standing in front of her, and Haven jumps in startlement. “Sorry, sorry. I thought you’d seen me coming.”

“Clearly not. But I’m ready if everyone else is,” Haven replies. “You all found everything okay?”

“Yeah yeah,” Danny says. “We were actually wondering the same about the two of you, but it looks like we needn’t have worried.” 

“We got some help,” Haven tells him.

“Us too,” Tony says, leading the rest of their group into the alcove. “Have you paid yet?”

Hermione nods distractedly. “We both have,” Haven says. “Let’s head on out.”

The wand shop - Ollivanders - looks like it’s the oldest shop in Diagon. From the outside, it looks a bit gloomy - gray siding, dusty windows, cobwebs, crooked door, a paint-chipped sign. Inside, though, the floors are freshly polished, and the lights in the candelabras on the walls splash warmth along the walls. Like Flourish & Blotts, Ollivanders has dozens of shelves. They are filled to bursting with wooden boxes that gleam in the low light. There are more cases than there are shelves to fit them, and so they spill out in cluttered piles onto the floor.

“Hello?” Justin calls out, stepping carefully around one of the piles.

“Come in, come in. Welcome to Ollivanders!” a wizened old man calls, dancing around the heaps decorating the floor. “Just wait right there,” he tells them cheerfully, waving his hand towards several chairs that weren’t there two seconds ago “I’ll be with you as soon as I finish up this wand. Tricky business, wandmaking, and trickier with such a finicky core.”

With that, the man disappears again, and they sink down into the chairs, which are remarkably sturdy for things that did not previously exist before appearing out of thin air.

“Wow,” Gabriel says in shock. “He’s really something else.”

“Aren’t we all?” the man asks, having reappeared suddenly. He leans down into Gabriel’s face, inspecting him with protuberant silvery eyes. Haven watches as Gabriel leans away from the craggy face, twitching when the flyaway hair brushes against his skin. “Yes, yes. You first,” he continues, stepping back so that Gabriel can stand.

The man rushes back and forth from pile to pile, scouring the shelves. He returns with an armful of wooden cases, sets them down in a heap at his feet, and steps close to Gabriel again, peering into his eyes and prodding at his face. He snaps his fingers, and a tape measure flies forwards, extending itself, and wrapping around Gabriel’s arms, or stretching up the length of his leg, or measuring the spaces between his eyes or shoulder-blades or elbows and wrists.

“Hm,” he mutters, squatting down to riffle through the pile at his feet. “No, not that one. No. No. Hm… maybe. _Definitely_ not. Ah! There it is.” He stands back up, brandishing a sleek box, the wood of it smooth and warmly coloured. He opens it, proffering the contents to Gabriel, who reaches in and pulls out a long, straight wand the same color as the box which held it. “Acacia, Dragon heart-string, ten and a quarter inches, reasonably flexible. Go on, boy, and give it a wave.”

Gabriel does, flicking the wand. A warm breeze fills the room, and he smiles. “Exactly right,” the old man says. “Next up, please.”

Danny and Justin are the next to receive wands. Roisin steps up after them, and stands still for her measuring. Haven, who has been watching curiously, turns away from the proceedings at the sound of the door creaking open.

“Good morning, Garrick,” says a stylishly-dressed man with neat blond hair. He is tall, and his frame nearly fills out the doorway as he steps inside.

“Caspar Greengrass!” Garrick exclaims jovially, looking up from Roisin. “So good to see you, my good man. What brings you here today?”

“Daphne starts school this September, so we’re here to get her wand. Daphne, this is Garrick Ollivander.” Mr Greengrass says. Next to him is a dainty-looking girl with brown eyes, freckles, and hair as blonde as her father’s. She offers Ollivander a shy smile.

“How wonderful!” Ollivander replies. “Please, take a seat with everyone else.”

Mr Greengrass and Daphne do so, waiting patiently for their turn. Ollivander finishes up with Roisin, and moves quickly through Tony and Will. Then he gestures Kennedy forwards.

It takes longer to find Kennedy’s wand than it had for some of the others, and several of the rejected wands result in broken shelves and shattered vases. Finally, Ollivander digs out a pale box with comparably darker grain veining its surface. He offers it to Kennedy, who takes it out, breathing a sigh of relief when nothing breaks. Instead, a shower of glittering silver sparks burst from the tip, and Ollivander claps his hands enthusiastically. “Apple wood, Phoenix feather, thirteen inches, quite whippy.” He eyes her speculatively. “You’ll be an interesting person some day, mark my words.”

Next to Haven, Daphne is whispering to her father. “Phoenix feather cores are very rare. I’ve never heard of one being paired with apple wood.”

“D’you know a lot about wands?” Haven asks, refusing to feel embarrassed for inserting herself into the conversation.

“I have several books on Wandlore. It’s really very fascinating,” Daphne replies. “Different woods mean different things about a person, especially if more than one kind of wood is used, and different things still when paired with different cores.”

“What does her wand mean?”

“According to the wood, she’s very moral, probably fairly powerful, as well. She’s likeable, and will probably live for a long time. According to the core, she’s very independent, and is more of a leader than a follower,” Daphne says quietly as Violet tries to find her wand.

“What does that mean?” Haven asks when Hermione ends up with a rigid hornbeam and Dragon heart-string wand of twelve inches.

“Hornbeam indicates that she has a real passion for one particular thing, and that no one else will ever be able to use her wand. That’s just how hornbeam is,” she explains. “The Dragon heart-string says that she’s got power, and that she’s probably got a talent for flashy spells. She’s got a lot of personality, according to the length, but she’s probably got a strict moral code that she’ll be unwilling to deviate from.”

If the passion the hornbeam indicates is for learning, then Daphne has probably given an accurate description of Hermione’s personality just from knowing the components of her wand; even Haven, who has known the girl for a day, can tell that Hermione is very much how Daphne described her.

“Haven,” Hermione hisses, having sat back down, “it’s your turn.”

Haven stands and walks over to Ollivander, who looks deep into her eyes, flicking his own up at the scar on her forehead every now and then, and pokes and prods at every inch of her face before sending his tape measure to work. He disappears for a few moments, leaving her standing in the middle of the shop and feeling rather stupid.

“Here we are,” Ollivander mutters, holding out the first wand for her to try. “Maple and Unicorn hair. Go on, give it a flick.” She does, and nothing happens; Ollivander snatches it from her hand and stuffs it back into the box. “Not that one. How about… ah! Hazel and Unicorn hair.” Haven reaches out, and the wand sparks angrily before she manages to touch it; the box snaps shut. “Not that one, either. How about vine and coral?” This wand allows her to hold it, but the moment she flicks it, a window blows out. Ollivander rubs his hands together in delight, and nods distractedly in gratitude when Mr Greengrass repairs the glass. “Willow and Wampus hair. Oh, definitely not,” he says before she can pick it up. “Holly and Phoenix feather? A newer wand, made only five or so years ago, you know, and the first time this particular Phoenix has donated a feather. No, not that one; it’s a bit too protective for you, isn’t it? Blackthorn and Thunderbird tail feather.” A thunderclap sounds within the shop, and it starts to rain. “Closer,” he says happily, “but still not quite right. You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?”

Together, they go through dozens of wands, and none of them work properly. After Ollivander rules out Phoenix feather and Unicorn hair, Haven begins to wonder if any of the wands will accept her. Ollivander eyes her curiously, muttering unintelligibly beneath his breath. He holds up a finger and wanders off. When he returns, it is with two boxes in his hands. “Ebony and Dragon heart-string,” he says, offering her the box. She waves the wand around, and feels an echo of warmth settle in her chest. “Not quite right, I don’t think,” he says musingly. He looks down at the final box in his hands. “I wonder…”

Haven looks at him curiously. He nods decisively. “Ebony and Blackthorn, with a Thestral hair core. Eleven and a half inches, and quite flexible.” He opens the case for her, and she reaches inside. The wand practically leaps into her hand, flooding her with joy, and shooting silver sparks from the tip. Ollivander smiles toothily up at her. “How curious. This wand is one of the oldest in the shop. It was made centuries ago, along with another wand, using the hair of the first Thestral. It - and its brother - was made by a wizard who had never seen a Thestral,” he confides. “But,” he adds in a cheerful tone, “this is the wand of a warrior; the woods say as much, and the core requires a great deal of power to be used. The only other thing you should know is that the other wand belongs to the wizard responsible for this.” He taps her forehead once. “Brother wands are peculiar things,” he adds under his breath, before shooing her away and gesturing Daphne forwards.

Haven frowns down at her new wand, and heads over to the others. “We pay for the wands over there,” Justin informs her, “and you get a holster and a wand-care kit for an extra seven sickles. It seems like a good deal; the lady at the counter said that you don’t want to risk your wand acting up if it’s in your pocket, or hasn’t been cared for regularly.”

They wander over to the counter together, and Haven shells out the money required for the wand as well as the extras. By the time she is done, Hermione is by her side, her book away, and tugging at her arm. “We’ve got all the essentials, and there’s still time before we need to meet back up with the professors; we all thought we’d go look at animals, and maybe stop for ice cream before going back to the Leaky.”

“I’m game,” Haven says, and follows Hermione and the others out the door, looking back over her shoulder to see Daphne waving. She smiles and waves back.

The first shop with animals they find is Eeylops Owl Emporium. Hermione and Violet look in the windows and promptly decide that they - along with Kennedy, Roisin, and Justin - will not be going inside. Everyone else accompanies Haven in, and they browse the selection of animals. Will ends up with a Tawny owl, and Gabriel with a Screech owl. Danny looks around the shop, his face set in a moue. “I think I might go for a cat, instead,” he tells them.

Haven acknowledges his words distractedly, her attention caught by the most beautiful owl in the shop. She is almost pure white, her feathers only minimally speckled with brown spots at the tips of her wings and tail. Her beak and talons all look wickedly sharp, and her large amber eyes stare knowingly at Haven. As she watches, the owl contorts itself into a position that allows it to reach the latch keeping it enclosed. It clicks, and the owl shoves herself into the air, flaps her wings in a flurry, and lands on Haven’s shoulder.

“I want her,” she tells the shopkeeper, who stares at her with an open mouth, blinking hard, as though she cannot believe what she’s just seen.

“Right. Of course. Absolutely.” And with that, she bustles around the counter to accept Haven’s money in exchange for the owl, a cage, and some food.

After Eeylops, they stop at the Magical Menagerie, but none of the others find an animal they want, and so they head to Fortescue’s for ice cream. They are given sundaes, and they make their way back to the Leaky slowly, enjoying the cold treat.

The professors are easy to find in the Leaky, surrounded as they are by the other groups who had branched off. McGonagall eyes them sternly. “Right on time. Now, you all will be returning home soon, and so Pomona and I thought we’d give you a head’s up about how to get to Hogwarts on the first of September. These are your tickets for the train,” she says, handing out the stubs to each of them. “Notice they say ‘Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.’ When you arrive at the Kings Cross Station, please head towards the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, and run through it. If you do not arrive before eleven o’clock, you will be unable to get through the barrier. I suggest you arrive early. If you do not make it onto the train, I advise you to send an owl to Hogwarts, or ask one of the older Wixen at the station for help. Whatever you do, do not mention Hogwarts to the Muggles.”

With that, McGonagall, Sinistra, and Sprout pack them all onto the Knight Bus and send them home. 

It is after dark when Haven finally makes it back to the front stoop of Four Privet Drive. The windows glow against the white trim, making the house seem warm and cozy. It is, in fact, warm and cozy, Haven realises as she pushes open the bright red door - Aunt Petunia’s own form of rebellion against the monotony of the neighbourhood, and inspired by Haven’s mother after her death. She can smell the shepherd’s pie Aunt Petunia must have made for dinner wafting through the air.

“Good evening, darling,” her aunt calls from the kitchen. “Would you mind helping me set the table? We were waiting for you to get home before eating.”

“Be right there,” Haven replies, toeing off her shoes, heading up the staircase to drop off her supplies and owl, and following the sound of Aunt Petunia’s voice back down.

Her aunt is bustling around with various dishes that she dumps into Haven’s arms the moment she sees her. She offers a quick hug and then pushes Haven towards the dining room, following with the glass dish of pie. “How was your day?” she asks curiously, and listens intently as Haven recounts every detail she can remember.

“You didn’t spoil your appetite with that ice cream, did you?” Aunt Petunia asks suspiciously.

“No, I’m still starving, don’t worry.”

“And you’ll make sure that owl of yours doesn’t make a mess?”

“Of course. Can I let her out at night? The lady at the shop said it was bad to keep her locked up for too long.”

“Certainly, so long as she is outside and not in here. And make sure she’s not out and about during the day; we don’t want the neighbours asking questions.”

“Okay,” Haven says cheerfully, laying the silverware out next to the plates.

“Vernon! Dudley!” Aunt Petunia calls up the stairs when they have finished setting the table for dinner. “Time to eat!”

In short order, Uncle Vernon and Dudley have trundled down the steps and sat down. Her uncle makes an aborted gesture to reach for Aunt Petunia’s and Dudley’s hands; the Dursleys go to church every Sunday, but they do not pray over their food when Haven is around for fear of making her uncomfortable. She wants to tell them that she doesn’t much mind either way, but she understands where they’re coming from; their religion doesn’t condone magic, and so it doesn’t much like her. She appreciates the thought, though.

To cover his unintentional movement, Uncle Vernon smooths his hands over his portly stomach, smiles around the table, and tucks in. “This is delicious, Pet,” he says sincerely, after swallowing.

Haven and Dudley nod vigorously in agreement, and her aunt offers a pleased smile in reply, daintily taking a bite of her meal and humming happily.

“Haven was just telling me about her day in Diagon Alley,” Aunt Petunia says after a moment, taking a delicate sip of her Sangiovese.

Dudley sits up straight in interest, and Uncle Vernon looks at her curiously. Haven details the happenings of the day once again.

“Those boys are right,” her uncle says once she’s finished speaking. “If this Malfoy character apologises, it may be in your best interests to accept it gracefully.”

“But it’s not _me_ he’s insulted,” Haven argues.

“No,” Uncle Vernon agrees, “but from what you’ve said, he doesn’t seem to be the sort who will apologise to anyone he sees as less than him.”

“Then why should I accept an apology if he offers it?”

“Because it shows that he’s trying,” Aunt Petunia puts in softly. “It’s not at all the same situation, but your mother once had a friend who insulted her, and she refused to accept his apology. They’d been friends for years, and then they never spoke again. I think she regretted it, sometimes.”

“But _I’m_ not friends with this boy. Why should it matter whether I forgive him or not?” Haven says obstinately.

“It shows that you’re a better person than he is,” Uncle Vernon says firmly.

At the same time, Aunt Petunia tells her “I just want to make sure you don’t do something you’ll regret,” and her voice is soft and a little bit sad. “Make sure you’re not making the same mistake your mother did. That’s all I’m saying, darling.”

“Fine,” she says sulkily, and repeats the words she’d said to Cassius and Marcus earlier that day. “I’ll think about it.”

Dudley snorts into his food. “No you won’t.”

She scowls at him, and he lifts a forkful of his meal to his mouth hurriedly. He chews and swallows it just as Haven makes what remains on his plate disappear.

“Haven Lily Potter!” Aunt Petunia says sternly. “That was uncalled for. Finish your food and head into the kitchen. You’ll be doing the washing-up tonight.”

Haven heads into the kitchen without complaint; she knows that her aunt is right. She shouldn’t have gotten rid of Dudley’s food, and she shouldn’t have made the outcome of Aunt Petunia’s hard work disappear like that. She loads the washing-up machine, and puts the kettle on before finishing the rest by hand and placing them on the draining board to rinse them. She dumps the boiling water over the dishes to ensure their cleanliness, and starts the machine, before towelling off her hands.

In the sitting room, Dudley and Aunt Petunia are sitting on the couch; Dudley is watching the television, and her aunt is reading one of her romance novels - Haven had once made the mistake of reading one of them, and the contents had been far raunchier than she had expected. Uncle Vernon is on his favorite recliner, a tumbler of brandy in one hand and the paper from the morning in the other.

“Aunt Petunia, I’m really sorry I wasted the food you worked so hard to make,” she says, and her aunt smiles up at her, extending her arm for a hug.

“That’s alright, darling. Let’s try not to do it again, shall we?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Haven says dutifully, before turning to Dudley. “I’m sorry for making your food disappear. I know shepherd’s pie is one of your favorites.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, staring at the screen.

Haven smiles fondly at her cousin and curls up on the sofa next to him, yawning widely and trying to focus on Dudley’s show.

She wakes up the next morning, in her own bed, with Hedwig’s amber eyes staring at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if I butchered any Britishisms - I am distinctly American. I would apologize for changing everything about Diagon Alley, but I'm already changing everything else, so why not. And, if anyone was wondering - and if you've read strength of myths; if you haven't, you won't be wondering - the Thestral that is briefly mentioned is in fact Thester. I know you were all dying for that little tidbit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hogwarts Express

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... so this chapter isn't edited. I apologize. If there are any abominable mistakes or discrepancies that I have somehow missed (I have added so many details and can't remember half of them, good lord) please feel free to let me know.
> 
> There is a reference to my doubtful hearts and sly minds series in here, but nothing that requires you to actually read it if you don't want to.
> 
> It has been sev(en)eral years since I was last eleven, so I don't really remember how eleven-year-olds act. I do have this vague impression, though, that making friends typically involved sitting next to someone and talking at them. It was much easier to make friends at eleven than it is now. But you may notice that Haven makes friends quite easily, and that's because I'm operating under the assumption that this is how friend-making amongst pre-teens works. Sorry if I'm wrong.
> 
> It's not quite the same, but I'm crediting Taure (I think that's how you spell that) with the magical version of a board game idea, because I think that's where I got it from. I did choose a different game than in the Victoria Potter story to be safe, and also because I am nowhere near creative enough to change a game like that.
> 
> I'm sorry for my extensive Author's Notes. Enjoy!
> 
> Also - I almost forgot - thank you to everyone who has left kudos.

Aunt Petunia knocks at her door at nine o’clock exactly on the first day of September, as though she’s worried that Haven might not be awake yet.

“I’m up!” Haven calls through the door. She has been awake since seven, packing everything she’d gotten in Diagon into her mother’s trunk, and taking out all the things that don’t fit. She has also been reciting McGonagall’s instructions regarding how to get to the train, and stopping every now and then to flip through the pages of the various textbooks that are still laying on every surface of her room, hoping that she will somehow be able to absorb all the information about the magical world that she could possibly need by doing so.

“Alright, darling,” Aunt Petunia calls back. “Make sure to come down for breakfast soon.”

“Okay.” Haven looks around her room. It looks like it’s been hit by a tornado. Clothing and books and other miscellaneous necessities are thrown haphazardly into her mother’s trunk, and are spilling out in puddles onto the floor, which is invisible beneath the vast quantities of stuff strewn across the floorboards. There is no place that has been spared: her room is sparsely decorated in the first place, boasting a bed and a desk and a bedside table and a cupboard for her clothes and not much else. The cupboard is the only place that is relatively clean, now that she has moved all of her clothing out of it and onto her bed. The desk, too, is covered with notebooks and pens and textbooks and regular books and her parents’ journals and her copy of _The Hobbit._ She sighs, steps over the mounds on the ground, and opens the door. It is blocked from opening all the way, and so Haven pushes it as wide as it will go and squirms out, grunting when she bumps her hip on the handle.

Aunt Petunia is ladling hot cereal into bowls when she enters the kitchen, but she spares Haven a glance marked by the arch of her eyebrow. Haven tries to raise her eyebrow in reply, but fails, only succeeding in pushing both of them up her forehead and widening her eyes, resulting in a ridiculous look of surprise.

Her aunt sniffs in amusement. “Stop that. You look like you belong in an insane asylum when you do that. Eyebrow raising is something that must come naturally, darling, and I’m afraid that you just don’t have the talent for it.”

Haven frowns, automatically taking the bowl that Aunt Petunia shoves at her.

“What was all that ruckus about, anyways?”

“I was packing,” Haven says.

“Say no more,” Petunia replies. “I assume that nothing is where it should be, and your room is a disaster zone?”

“Nooo,” Haven tells her, raising her eyebrows again, this time in mock offense.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen you pack before, for vacations and the like. You can’t even load your school bag without causing chaos.”

“Yes I can!” she protests.

Aunt Petunia tilts her chin down, raising her eyebrows in disbelief. “You can when I supervise,” she counters, “and barely even then.”

Haven scoops a spoonful of porridge into her mouth and swallows it. She makes a face at the bland flavour and mixes cream and sugar into it. It tastes better after that. She grins toothily at her aunt, who makes a disgusted face.

“Swallow your food before opening your mouth, Haven. You’re eleven, not five. And I’ll help you pack; heaven knows it’s the only way we’ll get you to the train station on time.”

Haven grins at her again, this time without food in her mouth, and puts her empty bowl into the sink.

With Aunt Petunia supervising - and whenever her aunt ‘supervises,’ she is really handing out marching orders - the process goes much faster. Haven manages to sort all her belongings into a pile she will bring to Hogwarts and one she will leave behind. Her clothes end up folded in her trunk, and her books are stacked neatly in a separate compartment. By the time she’s finished, her floor is visible again, the cupboard is no longer devoid of clothing, and her bed and desk are made and neatly organized, respectively.

Haven enlists Dudley to help her carry the trunk downstairs. “Is this your reverse birthday or something?” he complains, scowling at her when she fails to lift her end of the chest high enough to avoid bumping on the way down. “Haven, lift _up,_ quit letting it drag,” he snaps the third time the wood clatters loudly against the steps, the sound oddly hollow.

Haven drops her end of the trunk, and Dudley overbalances for a second as he tries to compensate for the sudden lack of support. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she tells her cousin, and stoops down to grab at the handle, lifting her end of the portmanteau to her waist.

Dudley rolls his eyes at her. “ _You_ asked _me_ for help, not the other way around. Maybe you should try remembering that, or next time I’ll leave you to carry it by yourself.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, but she does cooperate with his efforts to get the trunk out the front door and into the boot of the car. She runs back up to her room, checks the latch on Hedwig’s cage, though she knows it won’t do much if Hedwig is feeling particularly determined, and brings the metal contraption downstairs. 

She stops in the sitting room to hug Uncle Vernon goodbye; he sets aside the morning paper and squeezes her tightly. “Don’t go causing trouble for your professors,” he tells her sternly. “And send us some post every now and then, understand? Pet will be dying to hear from you, especially once Dudders is off at Smeltings.” He pats her back twice, and then goes back to his paper.

“Don’t go getting all high and mighty once you start learning magic,” Dudley says. “Just ‘cause you’ll be able to pull a rabbit out of a hat doesn’t mean that you’re better than me.”

“Are you kidding?” Haven scoffs. “I’ll wait until I can pull _you_ out of a hat before I rub it in your face.”

“You’ll write?”

“Of course. And I’ll tell you all about what I’m learning. We’ll see who learns more interesting things at school this year.”

He makes a face. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’ll have to take maths this year. Does Pigstain even teach normal subjects?”

Haven stares at him for a moment, and then they both start laughing.

“No, but really. Do you think those… Purebloods, are they called? D’you think they can even _add_?”

“I’ll be sure to let you know as soon as I find out. It’ll be my first letter to you. Dear Dudley,” she says, miming writing in the air, “to everyone’s shock and awe, the esteemed Purebloods of this world have managed to develop the ability to add two and two. Love, your superior cousin.”

“Time to go, Haven!” Aunt Petunia calls from outside.

“I’ll miss you,” Dudley says, offering her a hug that squeezes the life out of her nearly as well as Uncle Vernon’s had.

“I’ll see you at Christmas,” she smiles, and hugs him back.

She presses her face against the glass of the car window as Aunt Petunia backs out of the driveway; Dudley stands in the open doorway, Uncle Vernon behind him, and they are both waving. Haven waves back.

The ride into London is relatively low-traffic, and they are pulling up in front of Kings Cross Station before she knows it. Aunt Petunia helps her cart her trunk and Hedwig’s cage to a spot near platforms Nine and Ten, busses her forehead, and walks back the way they came, her back straight and her gait smooth, as though she’s not leaving the closest thing she’s got to a daughter in a bustling station with directions to get onto an invisible platform.

Haven turns to face the imposing barrier between the platforms, squares her shoulders, looks around to be sure that no one is watching, and makes a break for the brick wall, pushing the cart in front of her. At the last second, she closes her eyes tight, and keeps running.

She doesn’t crash into anything solid, and it’s almost a surprise.

A train whistle sounds, and Haven opens her eyes. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters sprawls before her; it is bustling with life as families wish their children luck, or help them drag their trunks onto the train, or as students mill about - some of them looking lost or lonely, and others rushing towards each other excitedly. There is an odd mixture of people wearing Muggle clothing or robes in various hues or the outdated style of dress Haven had admired back in Diagon Alley.

Haven looks at the ornate clock hanging above the entrance, which looks nothing like the solid brick wall it had seemed to be in the Muggle world. It is a quarter till eleven, and so she begins tugging her trunk and Hedwig’s cage towards the bright red train.

It isn’t that her case is heavy; it is bulky and awkward, but she would have no trouble picking it up if it weren’t on the ground. As it stands, though, it is on the ground, and there is no plausible way for her to lift it alone.

“Why if it isn’t Miss Haven Potter!” a familiar voice says on her right.

“Are you sure it’s her, George? It could be an imposter,” comes the reply.

“Dunno. Let’s find out, shall we? Oi, you. D’you remember us?”

Haven turns around. Sure enough, it is Fred and George Weasley in front of her. “I do,” she replies. “You’re Percy’s younger brothers, aren’t you?”

They exchange a glance. “To think,”

“That we,”

“Have been relegated,”

“To Percy’s”

“Younger brothers!” the one she thinks is Fred finishes, and they look at her with wide eyes.

Haven raises her eyebrows at them, unimpressed. “What can I say?” she asks airily. “The two of you are rather forgettable in the presence of a Prefect.”

Most-likely-Fred scrutinizes her, before a smile crosses his face. “Oh, well played. Nicely done. You had us for a moment there! Good to see you again, Haven - can we call you Haven?” He sticks out his hand for a shake and proceeds to do so vigorously. George makes a grab for her other hand to do the same, and Haven finds her arms crossed over her body and pumped enthusiastically for several seconds.

Finally, the twins let go, and swoop down to grab her trunk. “C’mon, follow us!” George calls over his shoulder, and Haven steps onto the train.

The Hogwarts Express is unlike any train she’s ever been on. As Fred and George lead her down the corridor, she takes note of the dozens of compartmentalized gauge cars, the dining car in the middle of them, and the baggage car at the end of the train. Fred and George drop off her trunk in the baggage car, and lead her back down the hall to the passenger cars. They must be bigger on the inside than the outside; most of the compartments are closed, and the glass looking into them is glazed and hard to see through, but one of them is open, and has several comfortable-looking seats with a great deal of floor space, and luggage racks near the ceiling.

“Impressive, huh?” George says, seeing her looking around. “The Hogwarts Express is a fairly new development; we used to Floo directly into Hogwarts or Hogsmeade, or take carriages, but a little over a century ago there was an accident out in the Muggle world. No one really knows how it happened, but somehow this train ended up in our world, and some Muggle-borns refurbished it. And the rest is history.”

“I was wondering where the train came from, given that the rest of the Wixen world seems to be permanently immersed in the sixteen-hundreds.”

“Lee’s told us that the Muggle world is very different from our world; our family is Pure-blooded, you know, and so we haven’t really been out into the Muggle world. That’s the problem with the Statue; you’re in a different world, really, and you never realise that everything outside has changed until you make friends with people who’ve lived outside their entire lives. Fred and I have plans to visit the Muggle world some day. Mum likes to say that we’re too big for our world, but we like to think that that’s just because the Wixen world is too small for anything interesting.”

“But you have magic!” Haven protests. “Surely you don’t find learning it boring.”

“It’s different when you grow up in a world where magic is constantly being used,” Fred tells her. “It’s just another thing. It’s just a way of life. You probably feel the same about things in the Muggle world that we would find fascinating. Our father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts section of the Ministry; he collects Muggle inventions and keeps them in our shed. He finds the things of your world far more interesting than the things of ours, and it’s because he’s grown up surrounded by magic and spells and the subpar inventions that we’ve adopted from the Muggles only because of the influx of Muggle-borns in the past few centuries.”

Haven says nothing. She may not understand Fred’s apparent disinterest regarding the magical world, but she does understand becoming less enamoured with objects in her every-day life.

Fred knocks on a compartment door, and it slides open to reveal the tall and gangly, long-nosed, freckle-faced, red-headed Ron Weasley. “Ronniekins! Fancy meeting you here! Haven, you remember Ron, right?”

“Yeah,” she says, waving at him.

“Well, we’re going to leave you in his semi-capable hands while we visit our friends. We’ll stop by at some point before we arrive in Hogsmeade to make sure he hasn’t turned you into a rat to keep Scabbers company.”

Haven eyes him warily, and he cackles. “Kidding! I’m just messing with you. Ron couldn’t even turn you yellow, let alone into vermin.” With that, he shoves her forward into the room and slams the compartment door shut.

Haven casts an incredulous glance at the door before turning to face Ron. “Is he always like that?”

“They both are,” Ron tells her seriously. “I dunno if you’ve noticed, but they’re the pranksters of the family. Mum is convinced that they’ll both present as Jugglers or Tricksters when they turn sixteen.”

“Are those specializations?” Haven asks curiously. “McGonagall mentioned a few, but I haven’t started reading _Magical Affinities_ yet; I was focusing on reading the texts for our classes.”

“They are,” Ron confirms. “No one really knows how or why, but on your sixteenth birthday, your specialization presents itself. Sometimes, several people in the same family will have the same specialization, but more often than not, there’s a wide variety of who’s what. Take my family, for example: Mum is a Hearth magician, and Dad is an Enchanter, but Bill is a Left-Hander, and Charlie is an Animist. The rest of us haven’t presented yet, so we don’t know for sure what’ll happen, but it’s unlikely - given our interests - that any of us will end up with the same specializations.”

“Do your interests indicate what you might become?”

“Not always. But Mum has always been very family-oriented, so her ending up a Hearth magician makes sense, though she could have gone Ancestral, too. When Dad was in school, his best subject was Charms. Bill’s always been fascinated by Warding, and he says he’s always been better at counter-curses than actual curses. He’s also very emotionally driven, which is a common theme amongst Left-Handers. And Charlie’s always been fond of animals, and oddly good at Herbology. So I guess interests and talents can be indicative, but it’s not always like that.”

There’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” Haven calls, and grins when Hermione’s face appears in the crack.

“There you are!” the other girl exclaims. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Or, I was, and then I ran into Neville - you remember Neville? -” she pushes the compartment door open wider to show the blond boy standing next to her, “and he’s lost his toad - why do you have a toad, anyway? - so I told him I’d help him find it. And then we found you. No toad, though, sorry Neville. We’ll keep looking, don’t worry. Haven, will you help us? And your friend, too? I’m sorry, what’s your name, again? You look familiar, but I can’t quite place you.” She says all this in a single breath, and Haven stares at her in astonishment.

“ _Breathe,_ Hermione,” she says. “This is Ron Weasley, and -”

Hermione cuts her off. “Oh! I remember now. You were in the Apothecary with your brothers when we were in Diagon. You were going to say something when Haven introduced herself, weren’t you? What was it?”

“Of course we’ll help you and Neville look for his toad,” Haven says once Hermione stops talking. She has the grace to don a sheepish expression in an apology for her interruption.

“I don’t really remember,” Ron says. “Might’ve been asking if she was _the_ Haven Potter. Ginny is always saying that I need to think before I speak so I don’t accidentally insult someone.”

Hermione frowns at him. “How many other Haven Potters can there possibly be in the world? That seems like a stupid question.”

Ron glares at her. “Oh, bugger off. I just told you I don’t always think things through before saying them. Seems like maybe you should try listening when other people are talking to you.”

Hermione opens her mouth to say something scathing in reply, but Neville cuts her off. “Let’s not kill each other over stupid things on the first day, yeah? We haven’t even got to Hogwarts yet, and I still need to find Trevor.”

Ron and Hermione exchange sour glances, but they don’t continue their argument. Haven smiles gratefully at Neville. She likes both Ron and Hermione, so it would be nice if they could learn to get along with each other.

Finding Trevor takes no time at all. Ron, with a sense of purpose in his step, leads them to a compartment three doors down, knocks thrice on the glass, and slides the door open before the person inside can even finish saying “Come in!”

“Hey, Perce,” Ron says, making his way into the compartment and sprawling across one of the seats. “Oliver,” he adds to the burly blond-haired boy across from his brother. Haven can’t help but notice how thick and dark his eyebrows - lowered in concentration as he flips a shiny badge into the air in tight little circles - are.

“Morning, Ron,” Oliver says, and tosses the badge towards Ron, who catches it with fumbling fingers. “I made captain, now that Charlie’s off to Romania.”

Ron rolls his eyes. “I know. You were only at the Burrow every week this summer talking about it. You’re worse than Percy.”

“I should make you join practice for that,” Oliver says threateningly.

“On one of the school brooms?” Ron asks. “Because, and I quote, first years are not allowed their own brooms.”

“Eh,” Oliver shrugs, eyeing him thoughtfully, “you’re taller than Fred and George. You could pass for a third year. Try another excuse.”

“If I end up in Gryffindor, I’ve heard enough about McGonagall to know that I’d never be able to get away with that.” He grins at the dark look Oliver sends him. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk Quidditch. Perce, I was wondering if you could help Neville find his toad.”

Percy pulls out his wand, looking at Neville. “What’s his name?” He nods when Neville tells him, and - flicking his wand - says “ _Accio_ Trevor!”

Within a moment, a rather large and warty brown toad has found its way into Percy’s free hand. He hands Trevor to Neville, who thanks him profusely.

“Not a problem,” Percy replies. “Any friend of Ron’s, you know. And I’m always willing to help, so anything you guys need, just ask, alright?”

They all nod, and then Ron is herding them out of his brother’s compartment and back to their own, which is not as empty as they left it.

Sitting on the carpeted floor are four people. They are two boys and girls around Haven’s own age. One of the girls has wild dark hair, hazel eyes, and a very square jaw. The boys are both dark-haired, the shades bordering on black, but that is where the resemblances end. The first boy is almost ghostly-pale, with faint bruises beneath his cerulean eyes, while the other boy has eyes to match his hair, which is obviously curly despite its short length, and dark skin. The last girl has blonde hair and brown eyes and freckles which remind Haven of a wizened old man speaking jovially with a younger man in a shelf-filled room.

“Hullo, Daphne,” Haven says with some surprise, instantly recognising the girl from Ollivanders.

“Oh! Hello,” Daphne replies, smiling up at her. “Did we take your compartment? Only, it was empty when we found it. I hope we aren’t intruding.”

“It’s our own fault for having left it so completely unoccupied,” Haven says ruefully. “Mind if we join you?”

“Certainly not. Come one, sit down,” she replies invitingly. She and her friends shift to make room on the floor. “These are Millie, Theo, and Blaise, by the way. And I’m Daphne, for those of you who don’t know.”

Haven and her friends take turns introducing themselves and exchanging handshakes with Daphne and her friends. “What are you doing?” Haven asks curiously, gesturing at the board in the center of the circle. There are various bits and bobs strewn across its colourful surface, which has the word _Life_ written across it in all-capitalized red calligraphy.

“Oh, we were just setting up to play Life. Would you like to join us?”

“Sure. How do you play?”

“I’ve been told that this is similar to the Muggle version, which makes sense, as Wixen remastered that game for our usage. As far as I know, all the rules are the same, for the most part. Of course, we use copies of our currency - so Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. Instead of automobiles - is that what they’re called? - we use broomsticks, which we imbue with our magic. At the beginning of the game, we set our magic-imbued brooms onto the starting square, and then we each choose a specialization from this card pile. It changes every time, depending on the players. I don’t really know how it works, exactly, but the magic in the brooms is connected to the game, and the game personalizes itself to the players that way.

“The first thing you do after getting your money and being assigned a specialization is to choose if you’re going to continue in school, or get a job. They are two different paths, and when you move your broom, the squares will write themselves. You see how they’re blank right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that changes whenever a player lands on a square. The first person to land makes the square write itself, and after that it stays until the end of the game. There are some squares that are prewritten, like the _Get Married_ square, or the _Buy a House_ square, or the _Choose a Career_ square, and there are two of those ones. _Tax Collection_ is another prewritten square, and you’ll pay money to the person being Gringotts.

“The aim of the game is to end up with the most money, and that’s really all about luck and not skill. Also, as we go on, your broomstick may get progressively more full with spouses or children, but I think that’s the same as the Muggle version if nothing else is.

“So. Shall we play?”

“It sounds like fun,” Haven says agreeably.

“I’m in,” Hermione adds.

Ron and Neville shrug, and Daphne pulls out eight broomsticks from the pile of pieces on the board. “Here you guys go,” she says, handing them out, and following the broomsticks with the money for the game. “I’ll be Gringotts, if no one minds.” Everyone shakes their heads, and so she smiles. “Now, would you like a pink piece, a blue piece, or a purple piece?”

All eight of them choose either pink or blue, and when Haven and Hermione look curiously at Daphne, she says “Some people aren’t either, you know? Or they’re both, depending. It’s nice to have the option, I guess, which is why the purple pieces are in there.”

“So how do you imbue the broomsticks with magic?” Hermione wonders aloud.

“Oh that’s easy. You just tap your wand to the broom. If you don’t have a wand, you can use someone else’s, which is how little kids play.”

Once all the pieces are one the board, Daphne holds out cards to them. They each select one.

“I got Technomage,” Ron says in surprise. “I’ve never gotten that before. Whenever my family plays, it’s always Dad who gets Technomage if anyone does.”

“It’s not like these are our actual affinities,” Blaise points out calmly. “It’s just a possibility, and not necessarily a very good one. I got Musical, and Merlin knows I can’t even carry a tune to save my life.”

“I have Gaia,” Neville says. “That’s not so far-fetched. Gran says I have a way with plants.”

“I got Ancestral,” Hermione says in a put-out tone. “ _Magical Affinities_ says that Ancestral Wixen can use magic passed down through their families, and I’m a Muggle-born.”

“Well I got Animist, and I’m not really one for nature,” Daphne says. “Like we said. It’s not really accurate. It’s just an affinity that’s within the realm of possibility for you. Maybe you have a magical ancestor and you just don’t know it. Or maybe it’s just the game trying to make itself more interesting.”

“I think I’m going to continue on the path to school,” Theo says, and Millie agrees with him. Hermione nods thoughtfully and nudges her broom next to theirs.

“I’m going for the job path,” Ron says. “Last time I played I chose school, and I lost, so I’ll try something different this time.”

Haven decides on school, as does Daphne, and Neville, looking at Ron’s piece with something like pity, does the same.

“And here I thought we were friends,” Ron says jokingly, rifling through his pockets and pulling out a sandwich. He unwraps it, takes a bite, and swallows. “I’m hurt. Hurt, I tell you. I can’t believe you’re all leaving me to face the real world alone.”

Millie rolls her eyes. “You can go first. Think of it as a consolation prize for your cruel abandonment.”

“Alright then.” Ron twists the spinner and releases it. It lands on the number two, and he groans. “I’m off to a great start, aren’t I?” His broom moves forward two squares, and - like magic - words ink themselves between the lines of it. _Get Hit By Stray Spell. Go to St Mungos. Pay 50 G._ “Merlin’s pants!” Ron exclaims. “Take all of my money, why don’t you? It seems I’m just destined to be poor!” He hands over his fifty Galleons to Daphne with exaggerated movements. He widens eyes at her. “Might Gringotts consider extending a partial refund?”

Daphne raises an imperious eyebrow at him, extending her hand. “No.”

Ron sags. 

“Wait!” Hermione says as Millie reaches for the spinner. “Doesn’t he have insurance to cover his fees?”

Everyone looks at her blankly. “Insurance?” Theo asks.

“You know, companies that you pay, and then in the event of an emergency, they help you pay off the fees? Lots of my parents’ patients have insurance that covers their bills when they get their teeth cleaned.” She looks around, and deflates. “Is that… not a thing here?”

“I’m gonna guess that’s a no,” Haven whispers loudly, and flaps her hand in the air. “Anyways, Ron doesn’t have insurance to cover his fees. Neither do the rest of us. Let’s continue the game.”

Millie shrugs and turns the spinner. Her broom floats forwards, and another square is inked onto the board. Ron groans miserably when _You Are Made Prefect. Collect 10 G_ is followed by _You Receive Nine Os On Your NEWTs. Collect 15 G and 27 S._ When that is succeeded by the square _You Receive An Award For Special Services To The School. Collect 50 G,_ he collapses backwards onto the floor, his arms splayed wide.

Haven stifles a laugh, and reaches for the spinner. Before she can turn the dial, three polite knocks rattle the glass door. Daphne stands gracefully and walks over to it, sliding it open. “Draco,” she says, sounding neither pleased nor irritated. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your business, Greengrass,” Draco replies. “I’m looking for someone. Do you mind letting me in so I can see if they’re in here?”

“Why don’t you tell me their name, and I’ll let you know?”

“I don’t _know_ her name,” Draco replies, sounding frustrated. “Will you just let me in so I can look? Please?” he adds sourly when she makes no move to step aside.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Daphne replies snootily, opening the door wider so that he can come in.

Haven realises upon seeing his silvery hair and pinched features that Draco is the boy from Madam Malkins, who Marcus and Cassius had called Malfoy. She exchanges a glance with Hermione, who arches an eyebrow at her.

“There you are!” Malfoy says in relief. “I’ve been looking all over for you. It has been brought to my attention that it was terribly rude and improper of me to insult you for the conditions of your birth, and I’d like to apologise.” The way he forces the words out makes them sound stiff and reluctant.

Haven stares at him until he squirms uncomfortably. “You don’t sound very sincere,” she observes, and his expression shifts from vaguely apologetic to affronted.

“I am!”

“If you really meant that, you wouldn’t have said anything about it in the first place. And I notice you never said it was wrong of you to say such things, only that it was rude and improper.”

He sneers at her. “Clearly, your upbringing means you haven’t the first clue about propriety. It seems I was right after all to assume you were less than me.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks away, slamming the compartment door shut hard enough that the glass shivers in its frame.

“I hope you realise what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Theo says softly. “Draco’s father is very respected amongst Pure-bloods. He could probably get them to turn on you with ease. I know he wouldn’t have much trouble convincing my father, at least.”

“Draco probably won’t mention this to Mr Malfoy,” Daphne disagrees. “He’s a Daddy’s boy through and through. Mr Malfoy was probably the one to suggest that he apologise; he and Mrs Malfoy have been working hard since the end of the war to prove that he was wrongfully incarcerated. He wouldn’t want Draco going around and screwing that up, you know? If Draco mentioned this, Mr Malfoy would probably be disappointed in him. You’ve seen how he gets at galas when his father is angry with him.”

“That’s true enough,” Blaise agrees. “He always gets sulky and self-pitying. He probably won’t say anything. I’d keep an eye out, though. Draco doesn’t like being shunned, so he’ll probably be out to get you for your refusal.”

Ron snorts. “Malfoy probably doesn’t realise that antagonising someone doesn’t make them more likely to forgive you. Spin, Haven, it’s your turn.”

She does, and her broom floats forward to a square that writes _You Are Banned From The Quidditch Team. Lose Your Next Turn._

“I think it’s more likely that, now that she's rebuffed him, he won’t much care whether she forgives him or not in the future.” Millie says thoughtfully as Theo leans forward to spin the wheel. “Congratulations, Haven. We haven’t even got to school yet, and you’ve already got yourself an archenemy.”

Neville takes his turn, saying “It’s not like she’d have wanted to be friends with Malfoy, anyways. Even if he hadn’t insulted her.”

“Why not?” Haven finds herself asking.

“His father was a Death Eater,” Ron says. “That’s part of the reason the Malfoys and Weasleys don’t get on. Part of it’s that they stole our money centuries back, but part of it’s that Malfoys tend to back Dark Lords. They backed Grindelwald, in the twenties, and they backed You-Know-Who in the seventies. Malfoy Senior’s sister-in-law was part of the raid that killed my uncles, though she’s a Black and a Lestrange more than a Malfoy.”

Neville shivers, and Haven can’t tell if it’s Ron’s words, or the grating sound of Hermione turning the spinner.

“What, so just because someone’s parents were Death Eaters means that they can’t be friends with Haven?” Theo asks defensively, and his friends look at Haven calculatingly.

“No,” Neville says. “It’s that Malfoy has been indoctrinated. He hates Muggle-borns and Half-bloods. But that’s how the Malfoy family’s been for ages. Anti-Muggle, you know? Some Death Eaters weren’t willing, or they didn’t buy into You-Know-Who’s beliefs.”

Theo relaxes. “Good. Because my father’s a Death Eater, but I rather like talking to you all. I’d hate to be banned from being friends because of my father’s choices.”

“That’s stupid.” Hermione says flatly. “It’s not your fault that your dad sucks.”

“Too true,” Ron says, spinning. “My Mum’s great-aunt is an absolute terror; she doesn’t much like Muggles, but everyone else in the family is perfectly fine about them. It just goes to show that not everyone in a family is the same, I guess, unless it’s the Malfoy family. I mean, have you seen them? They even look the same! Oh! Where are the job cards? I landed on a decent square.”

Daphne holds out the cards, and Ron picks one. “Undersecretary of the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts? Really? I get like five Galleons on pay day. This sucks.” Nevertheless, Ron holds his hand out to Daphne for his money when his broom advances forwards to the _Pay Day_ square.

They play in silence for a while, until Theo - who somehow makes it to the square first - lands on _Get Married_.

“What colour would you like for your spouse?” Daphne asks, already reaching for the pieces.

“You get to choose?” Hermione asks in bewilderment.

“Of course,” Daphne says. “Are marriages still arranged in the Muggle world? I’ve heard that it’s more advanced than we are, but that seems silly.”

“Well, in some places, marriages are still arranged. But that’s not what I meant. You get to choose the colour?”

“Well, yes. Why wouldn’t you?”

Hermione looks uncomfortable. “It’s only recently that homosexuality was declared to no longer be a mental illness.”

“That’s stupid,” Millie says. “I didn’t realise Muggles were so far behind in that regard. People have been able to marry whoever they want for centuries, at least. Maybe even millenia. Apparently Rowena Ravenclaw had two fathers, and that was back in the nine-hundreds.”

“So in that respect, the Wixen world is more advanced,” Hermione says thoughtfully. “How interesting.”

The Trolley Witch comes around with her cart just after Ron has managed to beat them all at Life for the third time. “How,” Haven asks, shaking her head, “did you manage to end up with the most money when your first move put you in debt. It’s happened every single time, too, regardless of what specialization or job you ended up with.”

Ron shrugs, stuffing a Pumpkin Pasty into his mouth and leaning back into the seat he’d moved to. Haven pokes through her own pile of candy, and selects a Chocolate Frog. She manages to catch it just before it can jump out of the open train window, and she bites off its head. “Dunno. I guess it just happened,” Ron tells her, grabbing a Sugar Quill and offering another to Hermione.

“Well aren’t you lucky,” Daphne says jealously, making a face at the bean she’d put in her mouth. “Cinnamon. Super strong. And if it weren’t for the fact that the game has Anti-Cheating Charms on it, I’d think you _were_ cheating, Ron.”

“Hand me one,” Haven says. “I’ve just gotten another Dumbledore card. I’m not so in love with chocolate that I feel like eating another Chocolate Frog for a different card at the moment. There’s only so many times a girl can read about discovering a use for Dragon’s blood, or work on the Philosopher’s Stone with Nicolas Flamel.”

Daphne hands her a bean. It is - to Haven’s disgust - chocolate flavoured.

“Nicolas Flamel is really well-known,” Hermione says. “Even _we_ have books about him, and the magical world is separate from the Muggle world.”

Millie looks up. “You do?”

“Well, I think so. Maybe not about him exactly, but there’s a book called _The Alchemist,_ and I’ve definitely heard of Nicolas Flamel before I learned about the existence of the magical world.”

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” Hermione’s inquiry garners no reply on the subject, because the compartment door slides open once again.

This time, it is Fred and George peering with beady eyes through the opening. “Good to see you’ve made some friends,” Fred says.

“Percy has enlisted our services to tell you that we’re nearly at Hogwarts,” George adds.

“And so here we are,”

“Telling you that,”

“We’re nearly at Hogwarts.”

“You might want to change into your robes soon. Bathrooms are to the left and down the corridor if you’re shy,” George finishes, and the compartment door slides shut the moment they pull their heads out.

Daphne looks around at them, and points at the boys. “You four can go to the bathrooms to change. We’ll be right here. Knock when you get back so you’re not barging in on us. Go on,” she says, flapping her hand at them, and they quickly scoop up their robes and head out of the compartment.

“Okay, let’s do this quickly.”

Within minutes, the four of them have managed to change into their robes and smooth out their hair - though it is only Daphne who manages to get much smoothing done. They are back in their seats with their street-clothes packed away long before the boys return.

“So what happens when we get to Hogwarts?” Hermione wonders.

“We get Sorted, and then there’s the Welcome Feast, and then we head off to our houses. On Monday, we’ll get our schedules and start classes,” Ron says.

“How _do_ you get Sorted?” Hermione presses.

“I’ll do you one better,” Haven tells her. “ _Why_ do you get Sorted?”

“It’s a secret,” Daphne says. “My father tells me everything, but he’s refused to tell me how we get Sorted. And no one really knows why we get Sorted, but historians think that the Founders did it to go along with Salazar Slytherin, who wanted to honor his brother’s death. But that’s just a theory, and not necessarily the truth.”

“It makes sense, in a way,” Ron says. “Bill’s told me a lot of stories about the founding of Hogwarts. Obviously we don’t know much after a thousand years, but in a lot of the stories I’ve heard, Salazar Slytherin wasn’t the cunning one in the family. Not that he never was, just that his brother was more cunning. But who knows, Slytherin is said to have really gone off the rails after his brother’s death.”

“And, if you think about it, a lot of people go into Houses that help them develop the qualities of that House. Not everyone, but, oh, take Merlin, for example. He was a Slytherin, but he acted like a Gryffindor. Slytherin helped him develop the cunning he didn’t already have,” Blaise says.

“I’ve heard that Slytherin is the House for dark wizards and witches,” Hermione says.

“Well, maybe. But dark doesn’t mean evil, you know. It’s more to do with your affinity. There’s an affinity called Inyanga, which is like dark Healing, I guess, but is Healing magic evil, do you think? And, if dark is evil, then Godric Gryffindor was evil. His specialization was Gaia, and that’s classified as black magic. Salazar Slytherin was an Alchemist, which is white, too. I think it’s just that Slytherin attracts the darker cores. It should be in _Magical Affinities,_ and I’d recommend reading that, because I’m sure I’m not doing this explanation justice,” Theo tells them.

“And,” Millie says, “Slytherin’s got a bad rap because that’s the House You-Know-Who was in. And, he apparently claimed he was descended from Salazar Slytherin, so that’s done the House no favors. But just think: Slytherins aren’t the only ones to have joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. There was Barty Crouch Jr from Ravenclaw, and Sirius Black from Gryffindor, and Lysandra Yaxley from Hufflepuff, though she wasn’t much of a surprise given that the rest of her family joined him. There’s also Professor Snape. He was a Slytherin, and was apparently spying for Dumbledore during the war. It just goes to show that not all Slytherins are bad, and not everyone from the other Houses are good, either.”

“That’s a fair point,” Hermione says musingly. “It’s like anywhere else, I suppose. Or even like people. No one is entirely good or entirely bad. It’s just that you only _really_ focus on one or the other.”

“Exactly,” Daphne says with satisfaction. “And that’s part of why I want to be a Slytherin; I want to prove that they’re not all bad. I want to do something _great,_ so that the world has to look at me and see where I’ve come from, and so that they have to realise that they’ve scorned an entire House because of a couple of generations of crazies.”

“Well, Daph,” Blaise tells her, “you’re certainly ambitious enough to pull it off.”

“We’ll help you,” Haven says suddenly, looking around at the others. “We’ll help you show everyone that there’s more to Slytherin than so-called dark Wixen.”

“Even if you’re Gryffindors?” Daphne asks slyly.

“Of course. Why should that matter?”

“Gryffindors and Slytherins are not known for their ability to cooperate.”

“Then they’ve been doing it wrong, haven’t they?”

They all smile at each other as the train slows down and stops.

“I guess they have,” Blaise says.

They make their way to the doors and step off the train, where they see a giant of a man beckoning the first-years over to him. They exchange glances, and head in his direction.

“Alrigh’,” the man - who has thick brown hair, and kind eyes, and a beard the size of a large animal on his face, and introduces himself as Hagrid - says. “Ev’ryone get on a boat. Four people each, an’ no more, else you’ll capsize.”

Everyone scrambles onto the vessels. True to Hagrid’s words, the first time more than four people try to get in, the boat flips over. Haven gets in with Ron, Daphne and Theo. Hermione, Millie, Neville and Blaise board the boat next to them, and they push off into the lake.

The ride is smooth, and the air dry and warm. It takes perhaps ten minutes for Hogwarts to come into view, and it is beautiful when it does, with all of its towers and glowing windows and glinting spires. Before she knows it, the boats are bumping gently against the stone steps, and Hagrid is encouraging them to disembark.

They follow him up the stairs, and down the halls that open out onto air and a steep drop, until he stops in front of a massive set of doors and knocks four times. They swing open to reveal a shadowy figure.

“I’ll take them from here, Hagrid,” says Professor McGonagall, waving them all inside the entrance hall. The doors close behind them, leaving them in darkness until, one after another, the candelabras and sconces on the walls are set alight, casting ghostly shadows across the room. They follow her down the corridors until they reach a set of sealed doors. “Welcome,” McGonagall tells them grandly, raising her arms in an expansive gesture, “to Hogwarts!”

The doors open, and she slips inside, leaving them behind with only an “I will return shortly to collect you all.” 

Haven exchanges glances with the other first-years, and settles in to wait. McGonagall is not gone for even two minutes before Malfoy approaches, gets up in her face, and says “You didn’t tell me that you were Haven Potter!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So magical affinities - and the textbook Magical Affinities that I keep mentioning but will never write because I can't even read textbooks, let alone write them - are mentioned a lot, and are semi-important in this story. Would it be helpful to have access to my document about these specializations/affinities, or is everything clear enough as is?
> 
> I have a new appreciation for people who write multiple characters, and write them well, because it is a force to write more than, like, three characters, and is even harder to write them with distinct personalities, which I'm fairly sure I'm not accomplishing. Oops. I'll figure it out sometime. I hope.
> 
> Also, I apologize for the lack of plot that has shown its face in this story. I promise it will eventually show up, if only in bits and pieces.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me while I completely change everything about the Houses, and the characters. I also apologize for the Sorting Hat section.

“You never asked, so why should I have told you?” Haven asks him, stepping closer and getting up into his space so that he backs away, uncomfortable with their sudden proximity. “I wasn’t aware that my name mattered that much. If you’d known who I was, would you have been less likely to say what you did? Would you have pretended you didn’t believe what you so clearly do so that you could call me your friend? I don’t like fakes, Malfoy, and neither does anyone else. You should keep that in mind.

Malfoy snorts. “Whatever. I wouldn’t want to be friends with you anyways. You’re an orphan, and everyone knows that orphans are desperate for attention because they don’t get it from their parents.”

A girl with hair and eyes like Ron’s, but without his freckles, steps forward. “I’m an orphan, too, Malfoy, and I’m not lacking for attention. Aunt Amelia manages to find plenty of time to do her job successfully and take care of me. Are you sure you didn’t mean that no one wants to be friends with spoilt brats because they’re desperate for attention when their parents are no longer around to give them any?”

“Your aunt’s a witch, Bones. Potter’s is a Muggle. We all know that Muggles are incapable of providing all the attention a young Wix needs. And I’m not desperate for attention!”

“Careful, Malfoy,” Ron says. “Your prejudice is showing. What would Daddy say if he heard?”

Malfoy pales dramatically. “Whatever, Weasley,” he splutters. “At least _my_ father can support me, regardless of whether he approves of what I say. _My_ father is a respectable Wix. Where does yours work again?” He looks around, ensuring that everyone is paying attention. “Oh! That’s right! The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. What a joke!”

“Well at least Ron’s father - unlike yours - doesn’t have to bribe people into releasing him after being accused as a Death Eater,” Haven says wildly, wanting to defend Ron and not much caring how she manages it.

“Well,” Malfoy spits at her, “at least I still _have_ a father.”

He shrieks when a boy - dark hair, pale eyes, broad shoulders for eleven, and nearly a head taller than Malfoy is - walks up behind him, taps his shoulder unexpectedly, and looms menacingly as Malfoy turns to face him. “You’re not implying that it’s her fault she no longer has a father, are you?” he asks, and Malfoy shakes his head. “I didn’t think so. It just came across that way. Have a little care with your words. You never know when a spurned orphan is listening.” He offers a cold, shark-like smile, all teeth and no joy, and pushes his way back through the crowd of first-years.

After that, Malfoy is silent, though the sneer he sends in Haven’s direction is more than indicative of his feelings on the matter.

McGonagall returns to a hallway filled with silent first-years. She frowns at them suspiciously, but - with no explanation forthcoming - turns on her heel, her emerald robes swirling around her, and leads them through the doors with no questions asked.

Haven looks around the Great Hall doubtfully as they pass through the doors; she’s read _Hogwarts: a History_ , and it doesn’t do the room justice in the slightest. Perhaps it is just that words cannot possibly hold a candle to reality.

The Hall is massive, with four long tables parallel to each other, stretching nearly wall to wall; a fifth, shorter table sits perpendicular to the other tables, and parallel to the wall farthest from the entrance. The floor and walls are made of gray stone, and colorful tapestries with moving figures line them. Above the four parallel tables, colored banners hang down; a red one with a golden lion running rampant marks the table farthest to Haven’s right. The table to its left has a yellow banner with a black badger cutting through the air. Next to that table the banner is colored in blue and boasting a bronze eagle with spread wings. The table farthest to the left has a green banner with silver snakes slithering along the borders.

The animals that have been so carefully stitched onto the richly-coloured fabrics, Haven notices, are actually moving, not just rippling across the cloth as a faint draft moves them about through the air.

Arching high above the tables and the banners are hundreds of candles, the silvery fire flickering atop the purplish sticks and warming the room. Above the floating candles, the ceiling sprawls in a regal statement, showcasing an inky blue sky, cloudless, with thousands of stars scattering its surface.

The light from the candles and stars is bright enough that every face is visible, as is every groove in the tables, and the stones in the floor and walls, as well as the four paintings that decorate them. The paintings are beautiful, if unusual - Haven has become used to every image in the magical world moving, even the ones in her textbooks, and these paintings are just as still as any she has seen in the Muggle world. There is a dark-toned one, of a man kneeling before a forest. Beside it is a beautiful eagle that looks quite similar to the one on the blue banner above one of the tables. On the opposite wall is a translucent badger leaping from the chest of a blond girl, and beside that is a shadowy image, the clearest part of it being the eyes - blue, amber, azure, emerald, surrounded by swirling, shadowy reds and chestnuts and golds and ebonies - which have the reflections of lions and eagles and badgers and snakes glittering within the black abyss of the pupils.

McGonagall holds up her hand for them to stop. They do, and she strides forwards between the middle two tables, stopping in front of the shortest table, where one of the people sitting there - a familiar-looking man with long silvery hair, an equally silver beard, half-moon glasses crafted from polished glass and silver wire, an astonishing lack of wrinkles, and plum-coloured robes which are painted with other vibrant hues that remind Haven of the photos she’s seen of the Milky Way, all bold blues and brilliantly phosphorescent purples and pale pinks, punctuated by little blinks of white light - leans forward to place a slim roll of creamy parchment in her hand.

McGonagall clears her throat. “In just a moment, when I call your name, you will approach the front of the room, put on the hat,” she gestures at the scraggly-looking, patchwork-fabric, leathery-surfaced hat that rests on the stool by her side, “and, when the hat announces your House, you will head over to that table and wait patiently for everyone else to be Sorted.”

She stops speaking, and the hat beside her puffs up. “Oh?” it says in a scratchy voice. “Is it my turn now?”

McGonagall purses her lips in displeasure. “Unfortunately. Take it away.”

To Haven’s shock, the hat begins to sing.

_Welcome one, welcome all,_

_Welcome to this humble hall._

_Our minds will meet_

_And your little feet_

_Will go without ado_

_To the House that’s best for you._

_Will you be a Slytherin,_

_A sly and cunning snake?_

_Will you disregard the olden days_

_And keep the friends you make?_

_Or will you fall to your families’ folly_

_And relentlessly further the break?_

_Will you be a Gryffindor,_

_A lion with courage in your veins?_

_Will you fight for honor and for power,_

_Or will you succumb to your fate?_

_Will you rise up high and tower_

_Above your parents’ mistakes?_

_Will you be a Ravenclaw,_

_A wise and logical soul?_

_Will you focus on your future_

_Or do you have another goal?_

_Are you willing to mediate_

_The war that stains our scrolls?_

_Will you be a Hufflepuff,_

_A kind and gentle hand?_

_Will you work so very hard_

_To stick to every plan?_

_Do you have it in your bones_

_To save the world from sticks and stones?_

_So will you live as a lion or a snake_

_How will you love: as a badger or an eagle?_

_Will you be the fist or the lips that build and break,_

_Will it be your mind or your heart that makes you lethal?_

_What choices will you choose to make_

_When you meet me as an equal?_

_Fear not, little ones,_

_I swear on my makers’ graves_

_I’ll put you where you most belong_

_Once you hurry your little feet along._

It is silent in the hall for a moment as the last strains of the hat’s tuneless song fade into echoes against the stone walls.

McGonagall unrolls the scroll of parchment and reads the first name. “Abbott, Hannah.”

Hannah Abbot, a round-faced girl with pin-straight blonde hair and rosy cheeks, stumbles forwards, lifts the Sorting Hat, and sits on the stool with it on her head. Anticipation in the hall sounds like breathless silence for a long moment, until the hat opens its flap and says “Hufflepuff!” Hannah hurries to sit at the table beneath the black and yellow banner, whose occupants clap enthusiastically for her.

“Alderton, Genevive.”

Reddish-brown hair settles beneath the hat and stands a moment later to the shout of “Ravenclaw!”

Zariyah Avery finds a home in Slytherin and is greeted by polite clapping. Two names later, and Gemma Baxter is the first person Sorted into Gryffindor, and the applause that greets her is thunderous. In comparison, when Aries Black joins Gryffindor, the cheering is far more hesitant, and Haven notices curious looks being exchanged amongst the older Gryffindors.

More names are announced and Sorted before Haven hears one she recognizes. “Bones, Susan.”

“Hufflepuff!”

Haven claps when Millie ends up in Slytherin, and when Gabriel Deverill - one of the boys she’d met in Diagon - follows her. Lionel Edwards turns out to be the boy who’d been the cause of Malfoy’s silence before they’d entered the Great Hall, and when the hat calls out “Slytherin!” Haven can’t help looking around to see Malfoy’s face. She claps when she sees that Malfoy looks rather put-out about this state of affairs.

Violet Evans ends up in Ravenclaw, and when Lucas Flint joins her, Haven wonders if he bears any relation to Marcus. She claps politely when Niamh and Roisin join Gryffindor, and finds herself surprised when Hermione does the same not long after. Daphne goes to Slytherin, and then at least a dozen more people who she doesn’t know are Sorted.

She stops paying attention for a bit; she tunes out the names, and her eyes unfocus so that everyone walking up to the hat is a blur of color. She startles when Neville squeezes her shoulder before walking up to the hat.

It is a few minutes before the hat says anything, and when it announces “Gryffindor,” the word is more thoughtful than it was for the others.

Malfoy ends up in Slytherin before he can even put the hat on his head. Theo joins him a while later, nodding to the blond boy courteously before sitting beside Daphne and Millie, opposite Lionel.

Haven looks up when she hears the name Ollivander, who ends up beneath a bronze and blue banner. Half-a-dozen more names are called and Sorted, and then it is her turn.

“Potter, Haven.”

The murmurs in the hall grow quieter as she steps out from amongst the other un-Sorted first-years and makes her way to the stool. It is a little disconcerting to have so many curious eyes on her, and so she stares straight ahead, blocking out the whispers that run through the hall.

Unlike with Malfoy, the hat remains silent when she reaches out and puts it on her head. She sits down just before it slides over her eyes, leaving her in darkness.

“Another Potter, I see,” a voice whispers in her head. It is remarkably like the voice the hat used to sing - scratchy and tuneless. “I would take offense to that, if I weren’t a hat. But I suppose I’m used to it. Your family always seems to think something along those lines when I sort them, and the Founders know I’ve had at least one of you every generation. You all have such interesting minds.

“Excuse me while I just - you don’t mind, do you, if I just take a peek? I can’t really see the memories, you know. It’s just - the feelings associated with them. They tell a great deal about a person, don’t you think?” The hat is silent for a moment.

“I see. Hmm. Well, you like learning. That much is obvious. It looks like you looked through all your books before coming here. But not in great detail, it seems. Just enough to learn the basics. Probably not Ravenclaw, then. You’re smart. You’ve got the mind for it, but there are things more important and interesting than learning, aren’t there. No, not Ravenclaw.”

From what Haven’s read, Ravenclaw is a prestigious House. She’d been interested in all four of them, of course, but Ravenclaw had really tugged at her. She consoles herself with the fact that the hat thinks she’d be smart enough to be a Ravenclaw.

“I’m a hat, m’dear. I can’t really _think_. But yes, you do have the potential. I suppose we can keep it on the back burner for now, though I’d prefer not to stick you in with the eagles if at all possible. You’re not quite right for each other.

“Let’s see. Hufflepuff. Mmm. You’re certainly loyal. You work hard, but only if you like what you’re working on. No, I don’t think you’re quite right for Hufflepuff, either. You’re the type to hold grudges, and I’m afraid that’s not a very Hufflepuff trait. I’m sure you’d do fine there, most people can do fine in any of the Houses, you know, but I’m not sure you’d thrive.

“Slytherin, perhaps. Sorry, sorry, I know that’s a bit uncomfortable. You’ve been very patient. I’m sure you’re plotting my demise right now. That’s a bit Slytherin, but not really enough to get you in. I notice you’re not shouting Slytherin at me like Mr Malfoy did, but you also don’t really have the same kind of ambition as Miss Greengrass. Interesting… there’s a small part of you - very small, really, and almost negligible - that’s Slytherin to the core. Self-preservation, ambition, yes, yes. It’s there, but it’s not the most important part of you. No, I don’t think Slytherin is quite right for you, either.”

That leaves Gryffindor, Haven realises, which is not such a bad way to go, in the grand scheme of things. In Gryffindor, she’ll be less likely to strangle Malfoy; really, it’s a good thing she won’t be in Slytherin; being that close to Malfoy on a daily basis might bring her to commit murder.

“You’re quite bold, aren’t you. A bit reckless, even. Recklessness isn’t a bad thing in small doses, dear, but I’d keep an eye on that if I were you. You don’t want to do something to get yourself expelled. Hmm, let’s see. Forgiveness is not your strong suit. That’s certainly a Gryffindor trait. Yes, yes. And you’ve got strong morals, too, that you’ve learned from your family - forgive me for saying this, but you may have to let go of those a bit. Yes I think Gryffindor will be the best for you; it keeps with your natural traits, but I think you’ll learn to overcome your weaknesses there too. Yes. This is definitely the House for you.

“Gryffindor!” the hat shouts, and loud cheering begins as she places the hat back on the stool and makes her way over to the table.

Hermione beams at her, scooting over to make space. Fred and George appear from nowhere and begin shaking her hands. “Congratulations!” they tell her, before disappearing back to their seats.

McGonagall calls the next name, one that Haven doesn’t recognize. It goes on like this for a while; McGonagall lists names, and they are Sorted, but there are only a few that she knows. Aileen Scamander joins them in Gryffindor, and Hermione leans over to ask “Are you related to the author of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_?”

Aileen nods briskly, before turning her attention back to the Sorting. Later, there is Mafalda Weasley - Slytherin - and Ron Weasley - Gryffindor. Haven cheers for them both. There is Arthur Wood - Gryffindor - who sits beside Ron and bears Oliver’s enthusiastic congratulations stoically.

Blaise is the last to be Sorted, and ends up in Slytherin.

McGonagall rolls up the scroll and flicks her wand at it. It disappears, and she moves to sit beside the extravagantly dressed old man, who stands with his arms raised. The Great Hall falls silent.

“To those of you returning, welcome back. To those of you who are new, welcome to Hogwarts. I have been asked to share some new rules with you all, but I think that we can save those for after the feast. Let’s eat!” With that, he sits back down and taps his wand against the table. Out of nowhere, glossy gold plates and utensils line themselves up in front of everyone, and in the center of the table, mountains of food appear.

Haven serves herself and begins eating. “Who was that?” she asks, nodding at the old man.

Ron rolls his eyes at her. “That’s Dumbledore! You only had _two_ Chocolate Frog cards of him today.”

“Oh shut up,” she shoots back. “He looks different in person. More… more. You know?”

“That’s Dumbledore for you. Always exceeding expectations."

“Dumbledore isn’t the only surprising person here,” Hermione butts in. “Did you see Malfoy’s face when Lionel Edwards ended up in Slytherin? He was furious!”

Haven laughs. “I know! I almost feel bad for Malfoy; Lionel isn’t obvious about it, but he’s definitely out to get him. D’you think Malfoy knows?”

“Wolfoy mayee Fluvirin, buh hemaw heffs fmarts hefinks,” Ron says through a mouthful of food.

Hermione looks at him in disgust. “Chew your food and _swallow_ before speaking, Ronald.”

“Malfoy may be Slytherin, but he’s not half as smart as he thinks,” Ron repeats, the words intelligible this time. “Like you said, when Lionel confronted him, he wasn’t super obvious. At least, I don’t think so. At least he wasn’t obvious like I’m used to. Maybe Malfoy can tell, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. I’ve heard a lot about Hogwarts over the years; the Houses may not get along with each other, but they’re supposed to be your family away from home.”

Haven looks up and down the Gryffindor table. “Big family.”

“Yup.”

“So what do you do if you’re friends with people who get Sorted into another House? We don’t just _stop_ being friends with them, do we?”

“I’ve read _Hogwarts: a History_ at least three times since we went shopping in Diagon,” Hermione says thoughtfully. “As far as I remember, there aren’t any rules against friendships between Houses.”

“That would be a stupid rule,” Neville says flatly, inserting himself smoothly into the conversation. “We can probably find out for sure if we take a look at the Hogwarts Charter; it was drawn up after the Founders died, around the time the Wizengamot was formed. Or we could ask one of the Professors.”

“If it _is_ a rule,” Ron declares, “well, I’ve hung around Fred and George long enough to know that some rules are meant to be at least bent, if not completely broken. Unless it’s in Chess. Chess rules don’t get messed around with.”

Haven rolls her eyes. “Well, that’s settled. We’ll just keep on being friends with our friends in Slytherin, and if anyone takes issue, they can just suck it up.”

“Speaking of taking issue, what’s with all the blood prejudice?” Hermione asks.

“Some people,” Neville replies, “are of the opinion -”

“Stupid people with stupid opinions,” Ron mutters mutinously.

“- that Wixen with Muggle blood are less. For some reason, they like to think that because some Wixen can’t trace back back for generations they’re weaker. Mind you, there’ve been studies that show that that’s not true. In fact, some of those studies conclude that if you’ve got decades or centuries of magical blood and no Muggle blood, you’re likely to have weaker magic than a Muggle-born or a Half-blood, or even a first or second-generation Pure-blood.”

“Most Pure-bloods like to ignore those reports, though,” Ron adds helpfully. “There has never been a report by a Pure-blood pointing out those things. All the ones available to the public are by Half-bloods or Muggle-borns, and the Pure-bloods, like the Malfoys, like to claim that their evidence is skewed, or not representative. Of course, some of the oldest Pure-blood families really do have weaker magic; take the Crabbes and Goyles, for example.” He nods at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy is sitting beside two boys who bear uncanny resemblances to potatoes. “They’re mean and they’re ugly, and their magic is weak. It gets weaker every generation; my dad’s had some dealings with Crabbe Sr before, and he said that his magic is barely stronger than a Squib’s. So he can do some simple spells, and he can make potions, like Squibs can, and he can’t do much else. I’d bet that Crabbe Jr has even less magical power than his father. Mum says it’s because of the inbreeding.”

“Inbreeding doesn’t always result in weaker magic, though,” Neville tells them. “I don’t know if you’ve heard much about the Black family, but the majority of them are magically powerful. Obviously, they’ve got a few lines that’ve Squibbed out, but sometimes the excessive inbreeding manifests as insanity.”

“D’you think _he’s_ part of the Black family?” Hermione asks, jerking her chin to where Aries Black is sitting near the second-years.

“Dunno,” Ron shrugs. “Let’s find out. Oi! Black!” he shouts, and Aries’ head jerks up at the sound of his voice. “You Pure-blooded?”

“No,” Aries replies, his words carrying effortlessly over the conversations at their end of the Gryffindor table. “Mum’s a Muggle. We’re not sure what my father was. One-night stand, you know? I’ve never met ‘im.”

“Huh,” Neville says thoughtfully. “Most likely he’s a Muggle-born, then. Blacks are all about blood now; Arcturus Black didn’t use to be, but he gave his son Orion control of the family when he got sick. It would have gone to Lucretia, his older sister, but apparently the Black family doesn’t believe in female Heads of House. So Orion became head of the family, and then he died, and instead of going to Lucretia, because she was a woman, or going back to Arcturus, because once you switch, there’s no going back, it went to Cygnus Black, who’s a prejudiced bastard.”

“Arcturus is still alive,” Ron adds, “but he’s pretty old, and he never completely recovered from when he got sick. He might pay attention to the family tapestry, but if Aries is on it, Cygnus can probably prevent Arcturus from doing anything about it. If Aries is on it, it’s a surprise he hasn’t been blasted off of it yet. You’re probably right in thinking he’s Muggle-born, Nev, unless Cygnus just hasn’t bothered to look at the family tree in the past eleven years.”

“Well this topic sucks,” Haven says. “Imagine your family not liking you because of your blood. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Sure,” Hermione shrugs. “When did you guys first do magic? My parents say that I was around four; they’re dentists, and so they wouldn’t let me have a piece of candy I wanted, and I guess I summoned it, or something, because one moment it was on one side of the room, and the next, it was in my hand.”

“What’s a dentist?” Neville asks curiously.

“It’s like a… Healer, I think, but for teeth.”

“I think I was about that age, too,” Ron tells her. “Fred and George turned my teddy bear into a giant spider, and it really freaked me out. Mum says I took one look at it and blew it up. Apparently, even with magic, it was hard to get all the stuffing cleaned up.”

Haven frowns. “I don’t really know when I started doing magic. If you believe what you read about me, I’m sure people _think_ I started when I was one, when I supposedly defeated Voldemort, but according to Aunt Petunia, the first time _she_ noticed me doing magic was when she was trying to dress me in a brown sweater sometime in November, I think, when I’d just turned four. She admits that it was a hideous sweater, but it was my Mum’s, apparently, so she wasn’t too happy when it shrank small enough that the only thing that could fit inside it was a finger.”

“Now I feel slow,” Neville laughs. “I didn’t start doing magic until I was around eight or nine, and it was only because my family was getting desperate. My Great-Uncle Archie threw me out a window during my birthday party. I thought for sure that I was gonna smack into the ground and break something, but I bounced. Gran was furious when she found out, and now he’s not allowed around me.”

“Good!” Hermione says fiercely. “He should never have thrown you out a window! That’s no way to treat someone, and especially not a child!”

Neville opens his mouth to reply, but suddenly silence falls over the hall. The plates and food disappear as they all turn to look at Dumbledore, who is standing with his hands raised. Haven can’t help but appreciate the fact that he doesn’t need to say anything to gather his students’ attention.

“Now that we’re all comfortably full,” Dumbledore begins, “I have just a few words for you before we head off to bed. First, the Forbidden Forest is - as its name suggests - forbidden.” He aims a knowing glance at Fred and George. “If you do happen to find your way inside, be safe, and do not get caught.” McGonagall clears her throat, and Dumbledore frowns slightly. “Er. But do endeavor to keep out of it, as there are various dangerous creatures within. Second, Mr Filch has requested that I inform you all that the list of banned items has increased once again. For the full compilation, please feel free to peruse the extensive list hanging in its place of honour outside of his office at your leisure.

“Now, before my final point, I would like you all to greet Professor Quirinius Quirrell, who - after teaching Muggle Studies for half a decade - has returned from his sabbatical to take up the Defense Against the Dark Arts post.” He gestures conspicuously towards a pale man in plum-coloured robes and a silky lavender turban. He is seated next to an even paler man dressed all in black, with a greasy curtain of hair, dark eyes, and a hooked nose, who is glaring out across the hall, sweeping his cold eyes over all of the students like they’ve personally offended them.

Professor Quirrell, with his sweeping purple fabrics waterfalling around him, stands and bows slightly at them. “I am delighted to be returning to this esteemed school,” he begins, his words deliberate and cultured, “to take up this infamous position. I hope you all will learn a great deal under my tutelage.”

Professor Quirrell is someone Uncle Vernon would admire, Haven thinks; her uncle likes to ramble on about charismatic speakers, often mentioning the importance of eye contact with one’s audience. Quirrell sweeps his eyes over the Great Hall, meeting the eyes of several students; he speaks clearly, enunciating his words, without making his tone overly harsh.

Quirrell sits back down to the dark-robed man, angling his body slightly in his direction so that his back is to the wall nearest the Gryffindor table. The dark man stares over his shoulder, meeting Haven’s eyes, and looking at her with discontent. A sharp pain throbs in her brow at the same moment, and it develops into a headache above her eyes. She reaches up to rub at her forehead.

“Welcome back, Professor Quirrell,” Dumbledore says jovially, pausing to allow for polite applause. “Professor Charity Burbage has agreed to accept a more permanent position as the Muggle Studies professor now that Quirinius has decided to take on the Defense post, so let’s all give her a welcome back, as well.”

The applause she receives is just as polite as Quirrell’s, if more sparse.

“And now for my final point. The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is undergoing renovations this year. It would be greatly appreciated if our more _inquisitive_ students would consider leaving it undisturbed.” He looks again at Fred and George, who nod thoughtfully at each other.

“Now that that’s all over, it’s off to bed with you all. And don’t forget that your first day of classes is tomorrow. Get a good night’s sleep. Pip, pip!”

All at once, everyone is getting to their feet.

“First-years, stay here. We’ll let the upper years file out first,” Percy calls over the commotion. He waits patiently beside a pretty blonde girl with a Prefect badge pinned to her chest. Haven thinks she saw her in Percy’s train compartment when they’d been looking for Trevor. 

Even though there are hundreds of students in the hall, it clears out rather quickly, and once there’s enough room to walk comfortably, Percy and the girl lead them out the same door they came in.

Haven and the others follow him down one winding corridor after another, walking at such a brisk clip that she can hardly remember the way they came. “Alright, through this wall right here,” Percy tells them, motioning to the nondescript stone, before stepping into it. One by one, they file through after him. Haven finds herself at the bottom of a frankly intimidating staircase that coils up and up and up as far as she can see. The walls are dimly lit by candles, which cast long shadows down the steps, and - when she turns to look back the way they came - behind them, out into the hallway they’d come from. She wonders how they can see it from the inside when the passageway had been invisible from the outside.

The people in front of her move forward, and Haven follows close behind. Suddenly, the entirety of the first-year Gryffindors are running up the spiraling stairs, their footsteps a great, clattering echo following behind them.

They reach the wide balcony at the top of the stairway, where they pause for a second before Percy and the female Prefect lead them through a second wall. It opens into a narrow room whose floor falls out, opening out into a brightly lit space that Haven can’t see the whole of.

“Welcome to Gryffindor tower!” the blonde Prefect says. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m Amaryllis Brown. That’s Percy Weasley. We’re the fifth-year Gryffindor Prefects. You’ll meet the others soon.”

“This is the lesser-used entrance into Gryffindor,” Percy picks up. “It’s just a fun way to get into the tower, and we like to show it to our firsties each year. If you’re up for it, all you’ve got to do is jump in, and you’ll end up inside. It’s perfectly safe, don’t worry, but for those of you who aren’t fond of heights, or jumping into strange places, there is another entrance that we can use.”

“Once everyone’s inside,” Amaryllis says, “we’ll start the festivities. It’s our traditional ‘welcome to the family’ party. You’ll be exhausted tomorrow, but it’s worth it. Promise.”

“Your House is like your family,” Percy adds. “I don’t know if McGonagall mentioned that in her little speech before she brought you all to be Sorted. Some years she does, and some she doesn’t. If this is the first you’re hearing of it, and you’re wondering why we - as your new family - are already encouraging you to make bad decisions, I say: what is family for if not to help you experience life to the fullest? Unfortunately for you, that includes making bad choices sometimes.”

“In keeping with that, let us help you make your first decision. Let’s jump!” Amaryllis tells them, grinning.

And with that, she shoves Percy off the edge and into the common room below. His surprised shriek lingers longer than he does. Some of the first-years near the front of the group exchange glances and shrug at each other before jumping after him.

The group moves forward quickly after that, clumps of people jumping at once. Being in the middle of the crowd, Haven gets a moment to take in the room below them, and she is pleasantly surprised by what she sees.

The room itself is decorated in muted reds and golds, and it is not as tasteless as Haven would have expected. At each end of the room itself are large fires in stone hearths with overstuffed couches and chairs placed around them, blankets and pillows strewn across their surfaces in piles that spill onto the ground, and sitting on top of a red rug with a gold border. All around the room, tables and chairs are placed in a nonsensical and random pattern that somehow reminds Haven of the lion on the massive banner that is pinned to the wall. 

The walls are made of dark, polished wood, with intricately made golden sconces mounted every few feet, and they reach up hundreds of feet, so that the dark curving line of the walls meets the paler stones that line the ledge Haven is standing on. There are small little rooms - furnished with tables and chairs, or couches and bookshelves, or bean-bag chairs and fuzzy blankets and fireplaces - carved into the walls at varying heights, with sturdy-looking ladders leading up to them. There are thick beams criss-crossing through the open air; they look wide enough to hold several people, and have small stacks of books, and half-melted candles, and couch cushions tossed haphazardly along their surfaces. 

As she steps closer to the edge, Haven notices a board with papers pinned onto it on one wall, and on the wall across from it are bookshelves filled past reasonable capacity. There are so many books that some of the floor space around the bookshelves seems to have been dedicated to towering stacks of books.

She doesn’t have time to admire the chaos of the common room, because suddenly Hermione and Ron and Neville are linking their hands with hers, and they’re jumping.

The fall is exhilarating, and Haven shrieks with laughter the whole way down, until the wind created from their fall whips her hair into her mouth; then she is so preoccupied with spitting it out that she almost doesn’t notice the rather abrupt stop they come to a few feet from the ground. And then they’re falling again, a shorter fall with none of the fun of the jump, but they’re greeted with enthusiastic cheering, and there are bodies crowding around them, offering hugs and congratulations. They are shoved out of the way just before more first-years land, and they receive the same treatment.

Once everyone is safely on the ground, one of the older boys raises his hands. “Alright, everyone, quiet down,” he says, laughing. “We’ll celebrate in a few minutes, alright?”

He looks around, his grin bringing out his dimples. He runs a hand through his dark hair as he waits for everyone to settle down.

“He’s _cute_ ,” Haven whispers to Hermione, who nods in wide-eyed agreement.

“Okay. I’m Roman Walker. I’ve been made Head Boy. I’m Muggle-born,” he pauses and grins again at the chorus of _whoops_ that sound through the common room. “It’s an unusual combination, I’ll admit. I’m also the king of Gryffindor, because someone along the way decided that we lions need a king to keep us in line. I was chosen by Charlie Weasley at the end of last year, and I’m essentially just here to listen to any problems you may have. Of course, I can also reinforce the rules of Gryffindor House, and dole out punishments to any of you breaking them.”

Haven exchanges a glance with Hermione, who shrugs at her. “ _Hogwarts: a History_ doesn’t say anything about the king of Gryffindor, but it does mention that all four of the Houses have secrets that they don’t disclose. This might be one of them,” she mutters under her breath.

“I swear I’ll be a fair and just king,” Roman is saying, and several of the upper years relax slightly. “Anyways, that’s enough about me. Why don’t we all go around and introduce ourselves? Say your name, and something interesting about yourself. You can add your blood status if you want, but it’s not really a concern here. We’re family now!”

What follows is a flurry of names and information that Haven can’t follow. She manages to pick out a few names here and there, but she hopes there won’t be a quiz on her Housemates because she can’t remember half their names.

“Welcome and welcome back to Gryffindor,” Roman tells them, sitting down. “Now I’ll hand the stage over to Percy, who has the debatable honor of explaining the rules.”

Percy stands up. “There really aren’t that many rules. Obviously, do as the professors say, stay out of the Forbidden Forest, stay away from the third-floor corridor until further notice, don’t go around challenging other students to duels. Common sense, really.

House rules wise, I’ll go a bit more in depth. Keeping in mind that there are about forty new Gryffindors this year - and your year is the smallest because of the war - the dorms tend to have four people in them. Each dorm has a bathroom. You are expected to keep both the dorms and the bathrooms neat - a clean living space will make everyone happier. For every four first-years we will assign one upper year to help you get around the school and answer any questions you may have. If they cannot answer your questions, you may ask a Prefect, and you may ask Roman as a _last_ resort because he’s got a lot on his plate.

“Once a week, we hold tutoring sessions that are mandatory for first years. Whether you continue to attend or not after this year is up to you. The other Houses - Slytherin and Ravenclaw especially - look down on us and think that because we’re in the House of the brave, we’re all stupid. We are not, and so as a House, it is mandatory that you receive good marks. A Prefect will check in with you every now and then to see how you’re doing; if you need help, _ask_. If you do poorly on an exam, study harder, or one of the Prefects will take points. We are here to be your family, and that means building you up so that you can be the best you possible.” Percy pauses to look around at everyone meaningfully.

“Now,” he continues, “just because we’re _seen_ as bold and brash and hot-headed by the other Houses and the Professors doesn’t mean that we _are_. We appreciate cunning; we _expect_ you to sneak around the castle at night time, we _expect_ you to wake up late, or to not do a homework assignment. We _expect_ you to play pranks on each other, on other Houses, and on the Professors. We _expect_ you to have fun, and to learn a lot while you’re here, and we _expect_ you to do it without getting caught.”

He looks up at the ceiling, thinking. “I think that’s pretty much everything. Obviously, don’t tell the other Houses how to get into the tower, and don’t tell anyone the passwords, either. If you have a question about whether you’re allowed to tell someone from another House something, just ask.”

Hermione raises her hand. “I’ve heard that the Houses don’t get along well. Is there a rule against inter-House friendships?”

“Definitely not! At least, _we_ have nothing against it. The more friends you can make in other Houses, the better. It’s about time that the damage You-Know-Who caused to inter-House unity gets fixed. Anything else?” he asks, looking around at everyone.

“I think you got everything, Perce,” Roman says when no more questions are forthcoming. “On that note, let’s break for a minute. Prefects, I’m gonna have you guys show the firsties where their dorms are. We’ll set up out here, so everything’ll be ready when you get back.”

Amaryllis and Percy gesture for them to follow them to where four older students are standing. “Avalon Lingley and Oscar White are the sixth year Prefects,” Percy says, pointing to the blonde girl and brunet boy. “Emily Essux and Bohai Zhou are the seventh year ones.”

The Prefects nod in greeting.

“The girls’ dorms are on this side of the tower,” Emily says. “If you just walk through this doorway, you’ll see the staircase to get up there. Your rooms are on the first level, which is where they’ll remain for the entirety of your time here. After ten o’clock, boys can’t enter, and it’s the same for girls going into the boys’ dorms, which are over on that side.”

“You guys are actually on the second level,” Oscar tells the boys. “Your trunks and stuff are already in the rooms. You can negotiate the bed situation at some other time. We’re just looking around right now, so that you know where everything is.”

Bohai nods. “I think you’ll like what we’ve got planned for tonight. It’s like bonding time, I guess. Roman’s got a variety of Muggle and magical games picked out. I think he even plans on telling the story tonight.”

“He seems like he’ll be a good king. Charlie chose well, Perce,” Oscar says in a congratulatory tone.

“Yes, well, anyone is good after Alexander Sykes,” Percy mutters. The Prefects shudder slightly.

“We should just be glad that whoever came up with the concept of the ‘Lion King’ had enough foresight to allow so-called subordinates to challenge the king if they thought he was unjust,” Avalon says pragmatically. 

“And that Charlie was powerful enough to do it, even though he was two years younger than Sykes.”

“Who even chose Sykes in the first place?” Bohai demands.

“Carmen Salvaggio. I think she was dating him when she was king, and she either didn’t realise that he was a sadistic bastard, or she was too afraid of him to say no,” Emily tells him. “Hopefully it was the former. Carmen was a sweet girl. I’d like to think that she didn’t know what she was sentencing us to, because I’d hate to think that she suffered while they were dating.”

“I don’t think Roman will be an issue, but do we have a back-up plan if he is?” Percy asks. “I’ve known him since I got here, and he’s always seemed fair, but Charlie was friends with Sykes for almost five years before anyone realised how f-” he pauses, and looks around at the first-years, who are listening raptly to the conversation, “ _-screwed_ up he was. I won’t risk anything like that happening again. Especially while my brothers are here. And I know I wouldn’t be able to take Roman on if I needed to.”

“Don’t worry about it, Perce,” Emily reassures him. “We’ve got someone, just in case. But I don’t think we’ll have to worry about it.”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. And, let’s keep this to ourselves, yeah? We don’t need to blow things out of proportion.”

“If you see _anything_ , though,” Emily tells them.

“Let us know, okay?” Amaryllis says softly. “Just because you’re in Gryffindor doesn’t mean that there aren’t bad people here. Don’t let anyone tell you that no one bad ever comes out of Gryffindor, because it’s _not_ _true_. There’s at least one in every generation, and we’ve all seen it.”

By this time, they have made it up the first flight of steps. Haven thinks that if nothing else, all the staircases in the castle will ensure that she gets enough exercise every day. The boys wait at the steps while she and the other girls move forward to inspect their new living quarters.

There are five doors lining the hallway, each of them with little golden plaques adorning the dark wood. On the door furthest to the left, Haven finds her name etched into the metal, along with Hermione’s, Aileen Scamander’s, and Veronica Fleamont’s. The four of them file into the dimly lit room. It is rather plain after the chaos of the common room. There are four dark wood, four-poster beds with subtle golden-hued sheets and crimson comforters, each with a pillow and throw blanket that match the sheets. They are each set in front of pane-less windows, which have frothy crimson curtains, embroidered with golden thread, pulled to the sides to allow the moonlight to spill into the room. To the left of each bed is a table with a candle-holder on it, and at the foot are their trunks.

There is a doorway between the middle two beds. Aileen opens it, revealing a bathroom that has all the commodities Haven’ is used to: a toilet, a sink, a shower. There is a cupboard in the corner that holds flannels and bath towels and robes, all in muted shades of red and gold. There is even soap, and Haven - after thinking about it for a moment - doesn’t know why she’s so surprised by this.

“All the dorms look like this,” says Emily’s voice, drawing their attention to the open door of the dorm. She moves from where she’s leaning against the doorway to sit on one of the beds. “At least, they do before we start decorating them. You guys can put whatever you want on the walls. If you want different bedding, that’s fine, too. Just make sure to respect each other’s space, and I’m sure you’ll get along fine.”

“We’re heading over to the boys’ dorms, now, so that they can figure out where they’ll be sleeping,” Bohai says, sticking his head into the room. “Don’t keep the girls up here too long. Roman’s got plans for tonight, remember.”

Emily nods and waves him off. “Why don’t you four go wait by the stairs while Amaryllis and Avalon and I finish checking in on the others. We’ll head back to the common rooms in a couple minutes.”

A few minutes later, they are tromping back down the steps and into the common room, which has all the tables and sofas and chairs pushed towards the walls. The floor is lined with sleeping bags, and the mounds of blankets and pillows that had originally been piled onto the furniture.

“Alright, everyone, find a spot,” Roman calls, and they all scramble to do as he says. He pulls out various board games, and several decks of cards, from one of the shelves that Haven had originally thought was completely full of books.

They spend several hours playing games, breaking off into smaller groups, and rotating from one activity to the next. Every now and then, a player up and leaves, joining another game, and so they adapt to the absences.

At some point, Fred and George disappear. When they come back, they are levitating several trays in front of them, all of which are heavily laden with steaming mugs of cocoa. Haven takes one gratefully, sipping at the sweet liquid. It settles heavy and warm in her body, and she finds herself struggling to keep her eyes open.

“I think it’s almost time for bed. Can some of you upper years teach the firsties Mouth-Freshening Charms? They’re almost as good as brushing your teeth, so long as you don’t use them all the time.” Roman waits until they’ve all crawled beneath the piles of blankets to speak again. Haven doesn’t think she’s ever felt this warm before.

“I thought I’d tell the story of the Three Brothers tonight,” Roman begins, his voice decreasing in volume so that it flows warmly over them, the quality of it thick and soothing. She can’t help but relax into the sound of his voice, and the steady rhythm of the quiet breathing all around her, and the warmth of her Housemates, wrapped in sleeping bags and blankets and darkness.

“Many centuries ago, there were three brothers walking along a dusty road at midnight. They lived in secret because they had magic flowing through their veins, and though they were trained in its use, the common folk hated them for it. 

“These three brothers came to a river that split the road in two. It was a wild, rushing thing, with strong currents that often yanked even the strongest men under the rapids and held them there until they drowned. But not only did the brothers have magic, they were also very intelligent; they used their magic to build a bridge across the river, and they made their way across it. They were the first to have escaped Death.

“And so Death came to them in anger, feeling cheated of his prize, and offered the brothers a reward, for they had escaped his grasp. He promised to give them anything they asked for. The eldest brother was rash and lusted for glory. He asked Death for a wand that would never lose a duel. And so Death fashioned the eldest a wand from the wood of the elder tree that marked the bank of the river and a hair from the tail of his steed - a thestral. He gave the brother his wand and turned to grant the request of the second brother.

“The second brother wished to make a mockery of Death, and he asked the phantom for something with the power to resurrect the dead. And so Death took a black stone from the river bank and gave it to the second brother, claiming that it would raise the dead with only three turns across the hand.

“Then, Death turned to the third brother, who asked for a piece of Death’s own Cloak of Invisibility. And so Death begrudgingly tore a corner from his cloak and gifted it to the third brother. Then, the phantom disappeared, and the brothers went on their ways.

“The eldest brother went to the nearest town and ate and drank until his tongue was loose. He boasted about his unbeatable wand, and when he was challenged to a duel, he _did_ defeat his opponent. Then, the eldest brother retired to his rooms where he fell into a drunken sleep. But in the middle of the night, a thief entered his sleeping quarters and slit the eldest brother’s throat, taking the unbeatable wand for himself.

“And so the eldest brother entered Death’s realm. Death asked him ‘Did you find your heart’s desire, you foolish child?’ And the brother answered that he had not, and Death welcomed him with open arms, for he had seen his folly.

“The second brother returned to his home where he used Death’s stone to call his dead lover back to him. But she was pale and unhappy, and begged him to allow her to return. And so in his sorrow, the second brother allowed her to return. He soon found that he could not live without her, and followed her into Death’s realm, where he was greeted much the same as his brother. He too replied that he had not found his heart’s desire.

“The third brother also returned home, where he married and carried on his family line. He used the cloak to hide from Death, who could not find him no matter how hard he searched. The third brother became old and frail, and on that day, he removed the cloak and passed it on to his eldest son, and he joined Death as an old friend.

“And so, in the end, Death claimed all three brothers as his own, because neither the bravest, nor the cleverest, nor the most cunning of us can cheat Death forever.”

Haven drifts off with Roman’s words echoing in her mind, and dreams of lavender silk falling away from pale skin. The sight of it makes her cold with fear, and even the next morning she has trouble putting her finger on _why._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dynamic between the Gryffindors is partially inspired by Fruitality's Lion Unity, and partially by petroltogo's Better be Gryffindor, which are both definitely works I recommend reading. Hopefully the 'inspired by' bit comes across, and I didn't actually steal the whole idea while claiming it as my own.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry about the wait. School, work, and being a lazy butt do not a good combination make. Secondly, the events are and will continue to be out of order, and I am both aware of that and doing it on purpose. Also, the characters will get progressively more and more OoC, so be prepared.
> 
> Enjoy!

Everyone goes still during breakfast that morning when two Slytherins walk up to the Gryffindor table. Classes have not even begun yet, and already a Gryffindor has managed to antagonise the Slytherins. They are fifth-years, too, like Percy and Oliver, and yet they make their way to where the majority of the first-years sit.

Haven watches Cassius and Marcus approach from where she’s sitting next to Hermione, wondering what they’re doing. She hasn’t been here twenty-four hours yet, and she can already tell that Houses do not go to each other’s tables, especially when the Houses in question are Slytherin and Gryffindor. And yet, Cassius and Marcus are still walking towards them.

“Budge over, will you?” Cassius asks Ron and Neville. The question is phrased rather politely, all things considered, and the boys scoot over, leaving enough room between them for both Marcus and Cassius to take a seat. The occupants of the hall relax and return to their conversations. 

“So. Granger and Potter. And the both of you in Gryffindor, of all Houses. I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Potter.” He sticks a slender finger into her face accusingly. “ _You_ were supposed to land yourself in Hufflepuff so that Marcus would have to hand his Captain’s Badge over to me.”

From down the table, Oliver snorts. He and Percy gather their plates and bags and, with some rearranging, manage to get seats closer to Haven and her friends. Fred and George join them almost immediately after, looking for all the world like they’ve nothing better to do with their time. “You don’t even play Quidditch, Warrington.”

“Well how hard can it possibly be? All you’ve gotta do is sit on a broom and catch things. I can do both.”

“Barely,” Marcus mutters, smirking slightly at the affronted look Oliver aims in Cassius’ direction.

“Sit on a - catch?” Oliver sputters. “There’s a bit more to it than that, you ass.”

“That’s something we can agree upon. And, Cass, you may not appreciate the delicate complexities of a really good Quidditch game, but I know you hate losing; if you’d managed to win our bet and become Quidditch Captain, the Slytherin team would become the laughingstock of the whole school. I’m the best Captain our House’s got to offer, and now that Charlie Weasley is off in Romania playing house with Dragons, well.” He offers Oliver, Fred, and George a shark-like grin. “I hope you three are ready to lose.”

“You wish,” Oliver scoffs. “Just ‘cause we haven’t got Charlie anymore doesn’t mean we’ll lose, and especially not to your team, Flint.”

Marcus gives him a mock-pitying look. “You may be the best Keeper this school’s got right now, but Bletchley can more than hold his own against your Chasers. Besides, I’m the best Chaser this school’s seen since _her_ father left. I’ve heard McGonagall tell Snape as much several times.”

“You’re a good Chaser, Flint, I’ll give you that. But your other decent Chaser is Higgs, and your third would be better replaced by the Quaffle itself. You’ve got a shoddy Keeper, and your Beaters may be brutal, but they’ve got awful aim. And your Seeker _may_ have some talent, but even _you’ve_ gotta admit that Pucey is timid.”

Marcus scowls at him. “Better a timid Seeker than no Seeker at all, wouldn’t you say, Wood?”

Oliver sticks two fingers up in a vee at Marcus before scooping a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“Hold up,” George says. “I just realised something.” He turns towards Cassius, and asks, very incredulously, “Did you bet that Haven - as in Haven _Potter,_ the daughter of James and Lily Potter, both of them well-known Gryffindors - would end up in _Hufflepuff_?”

“I did,” Cassius says forlornly. “Clearly, I was wrong. I can see that now; really, I’m not sure how I could have been so terribly mistaken. She wasn’t acting like an insulted Kneazle or anything when we met, and it certainly wasn’t on the behalf of the friends she’d just made that day.” He rolls his eyes and drops the dramatic tone. “Of _course_ I thought she’d end up in Hufflepuff; you don’t see that kind of loyalty in your typical firstie.”

Fred and George exchange a glance. “Well.” 

“When you put it _that_ way.”

“Yes, well, I guessed our lovely Miss Potter here would end up in Gryffindor,” Marcus says smugly. “And since we placed bets, _and_ you agreed to my terms, Cass, I believe now would be a great time to start on making that happen.”

Cassius groans. “You were serious about that? I thought you were just messing around!”

“Just because you were doesn’t mean I was, and you should know me well enough by now to know that I never mess around about potions,” Marcus says seriously. “Go on, get to.”

“What does he have to do?” George asks curiously.

“He has to convince your brother to tutor me in potions. It’s my weakest subject, and I need to pass the OWL for it.”

Fred looks impressed at his admission. “If it helps, Percy’ll probably agree to help you out. He loves imparting his knowledge to others.”

“Really?” Marcus frowns. “You think it’ll be that easy?”

“Yeah,” George says. “Look, he’s already got an answer.” He points to where Percy and Cassius have been talking quietly. Percy turns around to face Marcus.

“Meet me in the library after our first class, Flint, and I’ll see what I can do for you,” he suggests, and Marcus nods, dumbfounded.

“What do I owe you?”

“Owe me?” Percy gives him a confused look.

“Yeah. Owe you.”

“Nothing. It’s just an hour of time I was going to spend on homework anyways. I might as well have someone to do it with.”

Haven wonders if Percy even notices the slightly shell-shocked expression on Marcus’ face at his reply. Clearly he’d been expecting an actual transaction, or a more substantial answer than the one he’d gotten.

“Wasn’t that easy?” Fred asks.

“Yeah. What do you think he’s going to want in return?” Marcus still looks unconvinced, even when the twins raise their eyebrows.

“Nothing, you big lump!”

“Like we said,”

“He loves to,”

“Share his knowledge.”

“Likely,” George adds, once Fred has said his piece, “he’ll feel indebted to you. He really does love teaching.”

“He does,” Ron agrees. “He tried to teach me all the basics of Transfigurations before school started, and I actually understood them. He also taught me the basics of chess when I was younger, though Dad kept teaching me after I got better than Perce.”

“Percy taught all of us to play chess, you’re just the only one who was any good at it,” Fred tells Ron.

“You play chess?” Cassius asks with interest. “Maybe we could have a match sometime?”

“You’ll want to play Ronnie,” George says with certainty. “Dad’s teaching really stuck to him.”

“Sure,” Ron replies. “I hope you’re ready for me to kick your arse, though. I’ve been told I’m rather good.” He taps his temple. “I’ve got a mind for strategy, you know?”

“Bring it on,” Cassius says.

“Wait, if Percy likes teaching, he must like learning,” Marcus says, dragging the conversation around.

“Well, duh.” Ron pushes his empty plate away. “He likes learning more than he likes teaching. I think he’d continue school for the rest of his life if he could.”

“So why isn’t he in Ravenclaw?” Marcus asks.

“And speaking of Ravenclaw, how the _hell_ did you end up in Gryffindor over Ravenclaw, Granger?” Cassius demands.

“That’s also a good question,” Marcus nods. “I’d very much like to know the answer to that, myself.”

“The hat said I’d grow the most in Gryffindor,” Percy says. “Apparently if I were a Ravenclaw, I’d have become a recluse.”

“That’s not an inaccurate sentiment, Perce,” Oliver tells him. “Whenever I visit you over the summer, you’re always more interested in reading whatever textbook you’ve stumbled across than spending time with Prajav and Amaryllis and me, and with our personalities, and your family, it’s not like you’re lacking for human contact.”

“I enjoy some peace every now and then!” Percy protests.

“Assigning yourself essays about random topics is not peace!”

“Yes it is! It’s very relaxing.”

Hermione snorts. “Even _I’m_ not that much of a fanatic about learning. The hat thought I’d do well anywhere except Hufflepuff, but apparently I’m smarter than I am cunning, and I’m braver than I am smart.”

Cassius and Marcus look at her with something approaching horror. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

“Isn’t it just?” she asks sweetly.

“Well, if you’re afraid of bravery, that explains why you’re not in Gryffindor,” Haven teases them.

“She’s smart. If she’s braver than she is smart, I think terror is an acceptable reaction,” Cassius counters.

“If she’s as smart as you seem to think,” Oliver breaks in smugly, “it sounds like we’ll be winning the House Cup this year. What will that leave you with?”

“The Quidditch Cup,” Marcus snarls.

“No, we win that, too.”

“The Gryffindor team has nothing on the Slytherin team and you know it, Oliver.”

“Well I’m glad to see there’s so much passion about Quidditch in the hall this morning. The season hasn’t even begun yet,” McGonagall says, interrupting their conversation and holding out sheets of parchment. “But Severus won’t be pleased to find the two of you over here when he’s trying to sort out schedules, so I suggest the two of you head back to your table for the rest of breakfast and continue this discussion over lunch.”

Cassius and Marcus nod briskly, gathering their things.

“Feel free to bring more people for lunch,” Oliver tells them. “Preferably people who can actually talk Quidditch,” he adds, looking at Cassius.

“Just for that comment,” Cassius replies, “I’ll be inviting people who prefer talking about Arithmancy or Ancient Runes. I’d love to see you flounder during conversation for once, Wood.”

“I’ll bring my chess set,” Ron tells him. “You bring your pieces, and we can start a game, if you want.”

“Sure,” Cassius calls over his shoulder as he and Marcus walk back to the Slytherin table.

“It is wonderful to see you all getting along,” McGonagall sniffs, tapping their parchment with her wand. Ink bleeds onto it to form a schedule.

Haven looks down at hers. It really doesn’t look so bad; she’s got at least two classes each day, but she’s also got plenty of breaks in-between, as well as an hour for lunch each day. She looks over Hermione’s shoulder at her schedule, and finds that they’re the same. “So, we’ve got Transfiguration first thing today,” she says. “Class starts soon; shall we get going?”

“Actually, I think I’d like to stop by the tower,” Hermione says. “I wasn’t sure what classes we’d have today, so I brought all my books. If we won’t need them, I don’t particularly fancy carrying them all around all day.”

“I’ll come with,” Ron says. “I’ve got all my books, too, so I want to drop ‘em. Besides, this way I can grab my chess set now, and I’ll get another chance to get the way to the tower in my head.”

Neville ends up joining them; the way to Gryffindor tower is far less complicated than the one Percy and Amaryllis had taken them the night before, and so they manage to get there with minimal back-tracking; of course, then they realise that they don’t know how to get to the Transfiguration room, but there are so many upper years in the common room that it’s an easy thing to get directions.

* * *

They arrive to class on time, and Hermione’s relief is palpable. They have Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, and out of all forty of them, Haven only recognises Kennedy and Violet, who are sitting next to a blond boy.

Violet waves them over. “Haven! Hermione! You guys come sit over here, yeah?”

Haven and her friends move over to sit at the table Violet has indicated, doing their best to ignore the cat sitting on the desk at the front of the room. The Transfiguration room has ten of these tables, each with eight seats, and they fill up quickly. 

“Morning, Vi. Kennedy,” Haven greets them. “You guys remember Ron and Neville, right? We met them in Diagon.”

“Yes, of course,” Violet says, smiling. “You introduced us to Neville in Gringotts, and we all met Ron and his family when they were putting on that soap opera in the Apothecary.” She nudges Kennedy’s shoulder.

Kennedy picks up her parchment and taps it against the table, forcing the edges to line up. She places it carefully in front of her, so that the edge of the parchment is a little over two centimeters away from the edge of the table. She places her pen parallel to the side of the parchment, and looks up at Violet. “That’s right. We also met that rude boy in the robes shop.” She eyes Haven and Hermione suspiciously. “You haven’t gone and befriended him, have you?”

“Malfoy? Definitely not. I’m likely to strangle him long before we manage anything approaching friendship,” Haven laughs.

“What did Malfoy do this time?” the blond boy - Haven thinks she remembers him walking up to the Sorting Hat after McGonagall had called the name Ollivander - asks with a put-upon sigh.

“Only took one look at us and decided that because we’re Muggle-borns we’re worth less than the dirt under his shoe, Virgil. Nothing insulting or anything,” Kennedy tells him sarcastically.

Virgil nods sagely. “My great-grandfather has been selling to the Malfoys for decades, and he says they’ve always been pretentious and stuck-up.”

“Of course they have been.” Kennedy rolls her eyes. “They probably think that everyone in the world is beneath them, too. We haven’t even been here an entire day, and I’ve already seen Malfoy strutting around the Great Hall with his very own entourage. He’s like a peacock: pretty, if you like that kind of extravagance, and really showy, like he’s forgotten that he’s got ugly things about him, just like everyone else.”

“You forgot mean,” Hermione adds. “Peacocks are very territorial; I wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy feels like we,” she gestures at the Muggle-borns in their little group, “are encroaching on his territory or something.”

Haven cackles, catching the cat’s eye; to her surprise, it leaps off the desk and McGonagall lands gracefully on the ground. The class falls silent.

“Transfiguration,” McGonagall begins smoothly, “is one of the most complex branches of magic you will learn during your time here. It can be dangerous, and so I expect you all to pay attention when I am speaking, so that you do not end up damaging yourselves. If I catch you fooling around, you will be asked to remove yourself from the classroom until you can contain yourself.” She brandishes her wand. “Now, observe.” 

She flicks her wand at the massive desk she was sitting on, and it promptly turns into a pig. Haven stares at it in disbelief as it scuttles around the room squealing.

“How…?” Hermione mutters under her breath.

Kennedy raises her hand. “How did you do that? That shouldn’t be possible.”

McGonagall raises an eyebrow as she flicks her wand once again. The pig returns to its original form as a desk. “It is not possible by Muggle methods, Miss Williams, but Muggle methods are not the only method.”

Violet’s eyebrows furrow. “But even if Muggles can’t do it, scientists are all in agreement that mass can’t be created or destroyed, and a pig doesn’t have the same mass as your desk.”

An amused smile graces McGonagall’s regal face. “But I have used magic, not science, to Transfigure this pig.”

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet,” Hermione quotes, backing Kennedy and Violet up, and Haven nods in agreement.

“Magic is magic, not science. Muggles will never be able to, say, turn a desk into a pig and reverse it, because that is magic. Magic cannot be explained by any Muggle science that has existed, still exists, or will exist in the future. Our magic and Muggle science are two separate branches that - while having some similarities every now and then - will never collide.”

She looks around the room at everyone, and seems satisfied by what she sees in their faces. “Now,” she says, flicking her wand again, and catching a small box that flies towards her, “I’m going to have you all attempt to Transfigure a match into a needle. Remember, spell casting requires three things. Can anyone tell me what they are?”

Hermione’s hand flies up. “Proper pronunciation and annunciation, the correct wand movement, and the belief that you really can cast whatever spell you’re trying to cast.”

“Very good. One point to Gryffindor.”

McGonagall flicks her wand again, and a matchstick settles in front of each of them. Everyone begins attempting to Transfigure the match at once, and McGonagall makes rounds around the room, offering advice to people every now and then.

For most of class, nothing happens. Then, about forty-five minutes in, one of the Gryffindors manages to set his match on fire; it blows up, sending splinters of wood across the room. Haven hides a smile behind her hand at the sniff Hermione expunges, and frowns when - with a flick of her wand - Hermione’s match turns silver and slim and pointy. There is even, Haven notes with some disgruntlement, a singular strand of bright red thread looped through the eye of Hermione’s needle.

“Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger,” McGonagall says in approval, and Hermione flushes with pride.

Kennedy is quick to follow in Hermione’s footsteps, her needle glinting on the table in front of her. Haven frowns. “How are you guys getting this so fast?”

Hermione shrugs her slender shoulders. “I don’t know. It just makes sense. Here, try again, and I’ll see if I can tell what you’re doing wrong.” She watches as Haven flicks her wand, and says, “Wait, stop, stop. You’re angling your wand wrong, and the way you say the spell is a little too round. Try again, but like this.” She demonstrates, and Haven is just able to figure out the differences.

With the correct angle and pronunciation in mind, Haven tries again, and this time, her matchstick quivers before it changes. Haven watches as the wood grows into a small yellow block that looks like it’s made of straw. At the top of it, a slender silver needle sticks out. The light coming through the window sparks like fire against the eye.

McGonagall comes over to stare at her creation. “A needle in a haystack.” She purses her lips. “I’ll give you credit for the needle, but you need to keep working on this so that you can Transfigure the match into a needle and _only_ a needle.”

Haven frowns down at where the needle shines out from the hay, wondering why she couldn’t have just Transfigured a needle.

“Your wand will sometimes fail to cooperate with your intentions,” Virgil tells her, catching her arm as they walk out of the Transfiguration classroom, “because of the type of wood it’s made with. It desires a true connection before it helps you without complaint.”

“Um,” Haven replies, feeling slightly bewildered, “thanks?”

Virgil nods and walks off, Violet and Kennedy flanking him.

“I think,” Hermione says, “that we should head to the library before Charms. We can do our Transfiguration homework.”

“We have to _find_ the library first,” Ron counters. “I say we explore the castle so that we know where everything is, and if we have time after that, we can go to the library.”

Hermione huffs, but she nods her assent, and the four of them begin wandering the castle’s halls until they find the Great Hall. This, they agree, will be their starting point. It is Hermione who thinks to write down where everything is; she scratches out rough floor plans on a spare bit of parchment, and as they peer into room after room after room, she inks lopsided boxes into her drawings and labels them.

They learn that the Great Hall is on the first floor, as is the Transfiguration room. There are several other classrooms, many of them playing host to cluttered desks, or seats missing a leg, balancing precariously against each other. Others are nest-like in nature, the floors covered in fresh-smelling pine needles, the walls crawling with ivy. Still more of the rooms have blankets and pillows and overstuffed couches and chairs placed haphazardly on a plush rug. One room has what looks like a cupboard filled with games both Muggle and magical in nature, and another has instruments lining its walls in glittering rows, and more resting against the stone floor. Some of the rooms contain nothing but books, and there are even some rooms that have an odd amalgam of everything and anything, from old broomsticks to what looks like crystal balls to tubes of crusty old paint.

Somewhere on the second floor, they get turned around; Hermione looks down at her map, trying to help the backtrack, but it doesn’t work out as they expect; they find their way back to the staircase they used to get up to the second floor just as it is realigning itself in exactly the wrong direction for their purposes. The four of them exchange helpless glances before tromping up the steps to the third floor.

Hermione casts an interested glance to the right, but ultimately decides to take a step towards the left-hand corridor. The sounds of their footsteps echo ominously against the walls, which stretch out before them endlessly, without doorways or windows to mark the distance.

Haven shivers; they haven't even started walking down the Hall yet, but the emptiness is unwelcoming, and there is a fine layer of dust along the floor that their very presence has kicked up into the air; In the candlelight, it almost looks like snow. 

Someone taps her shoulder, and haven jumps, turning around to express her displeasure. Only, it is neither Ron nor Neville who has startled her. Hovering before her is a little man. He is dressed in purple and orange, and the colours managed to accentuate the mischief that his crooked smile brings to his eyes.

“What do we have here?” he asks in a mocking lilt. He widens his eyes and sticks out his lower lip, tilting his head to one side. “Has Peevesy found firsties on the third floor? You are not supposed to be up here, you know.” His grin stretches wider across his boyish face.

Hermione scowls at him. “We aren't supposed to be on the _right-hand_ side,” she says in what Haven thinks is a rather snobby tone. 

Peeves cackles. “Right and left are all a matter of _perspective_ , silly. From where I'm standing, you _are_ in the right-hand corridor.” He smiles even wider, and it is not a nice smile anymore – it is all thin-stretched lips and teeth.

“Here, Peeves,” Neville says placatingly, “we’ll just leave now, and you don’t have to tell anyone, alright?”

Peeves twists his face into a thoughtful moue. “Well,” he says, drawing out the vowel until the word has lost its meaning.

Impatient, Ron lunges for Peeves, saying, “Look here you little rat,” and the poltergeist leaps back, hurtling through the air and out of reach, his offended shrieks slicing through Ron’s words.

“Students! Students in the third-floor corridor!” he screams piercingly, giving the four of them a nasty look as he somersaults through the air.

They exchange glances and turn around, running the way they came. The stairs have shifted again, and so they keep running. Haven can hear the dull thud of footsteps running behind them, and so she keeps moving, pulling ahead of the others. She stops suddenly. At the end of the hall, there is a massive door. Undeterred by this, Hermione steps past Haven and tries the knob. It is locked. She whips out her wand and practically shouts, “Alohomora!” before pushing the door open.

Once they’ve got the door closed, all four of them press themselves up against the wood, hoping that their added weight will be enough to keep any intruders out.

“… are… Peeves?” a muffled voice asks, and Haven strains to hear it better.

“ _Peevesy_ doesn’t know!” Peeves’ much clearer voice answers, the mocking lilt back and identifiable even through the heavy door. Haven breathes out a sigh of relief and relaxes slightly, feeling the others do the same.

“You’re the one who said there were students up here. You were screaming it at the top of your lungs,” the other voice says angrily.

“Did I?” Peeves sounds unconcerned about the vitriol coming his way.

“Yes! Now, where are they?”

Peeves giggles maniacally. “I won’t tell you where they are if you don’t say please, Filchy.”

“Please,” Mr Filch says ungraciously, sending Peeves into another fit of laughter.

“Now, now, I said you have to say please, Filchy.”

“I did!”

“Didn’t!” comes the cheerful reply.

“I said please!” Mr Filch snarls.

“Say please, Filchy,” Peeves repeats, sounding as though Filch’s temper is the least of his worries.

“Please, Filchy,” Filch says murderously, and Peeves cackles again.

“Where they are!” he replies, still laughing as Filch growls in frustration and stomps down the hall furiously. A few moments later, Peeves is gone, too, his laughter drifting down the corridor behind him.

Haven turns, sliding down the door in breathless laughter. It promptly dies in her throat at the sight of the massive three-headed dog staring at them, long trails of saliva dangling from each of its mouths. She scrambles to her feet, and the four of them shove their way out the door frantically.

“Merlin!” Ron gasps, once the door is shut behind them and they’ve reached the stairs that are thankfully in the direction they want to go.

“No kidding,” Neville says as they clatter down the steps. “I think I’m done exploring for the day, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I think we all are,” Haven replies. “Anyways, we’ve got Charms soon, so we should probably head there now.”

“Cerberus!” Hermione says triumphantly, apropos of nothing.

“Um. What?” Haven asks in bewilderment.

“Oh, I’ve been trying to think what that giant dog was,” Hermione says, looking down at her map and taking a right. “The Charms classroom is this way, by the way. So I was trying to think of what it was, and I think it was a Cerberus.”

“What’s a Cerberus?” Haven asks her friend.

“It’s a giant three-headed dog that guards the entrance to the Underworld in Greek mythology,” Hermione says thoughtfully. “Apparently, music can put them to sleep.”

“That’s right!” Ron says, sounding as though he’s just remembered something. “Charlie used to talk about magical creatures all the time, and after Dragons, Cerberi were always his favorite. He said that a popular theory is that someone bred a Runespoor with a Crup, which is why it has three heads, but it’s so big. Apparently, though, no one has come up with an explanation for why music is a Cerberus’ weakness.”

Neville hushes their conversation suddenly. “We weren’t supposed to be up there, remember? We don’t want to let on that we were, especially not in front of a bunch of people we don’t really know yet.”

They fall silent obediently, and file into the Charms classroom behind the other Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.

Professor Flitwick, Haven decides as she sits down between Neville and Kennedy, is even smaller than Peeves. Nevertheless, Flitwick seems to have no trouble getting their attention, and after taking the register has them immediately start trying to levitate a feather.

It is part-way through the class that Haven and Neville, who are sharing a feather, realise that having Ron and Hermione work together was not a wise decision.

“It’s Win-gaar-dium Levi-O-sa,” Hermione tells Ron snottily, “make the ‘gar’ and ‘O’ sounds nice and round.”

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Ron tries again, and Hermione shakes her head in disappointment.

“No, Ron, you’re squashing all the vowels. I _just_ said to make them nice and round. They need to be long sounding, otherwise it won’t work. Don’t you remember that McGonagall said pronunciation of spells matters?”

“Actually,” Ron mutters petulantly, “it was you who said that. McGonagall just gave you a point for it. And, anyways, if you’re so smart, why don’t you try it?”

“Alright,” she replies, rolling up the sleeves of her robes. Haven rolls her eyes in exasperation, but says nothing as Hermione swishes and flicks her wand, saying the spell. Her feather rises into the air, and Ron scowls.

“You don’t have to be such a know-it-all,” he says angrily, copying her movements jerkily. The feather slips into the air to dance around Hermione’s shoulders before brushing against her neck. She shrieks and shivers violently.

Haven gives Neville a pleading look, and he leans over to poke Ron in the ribs. “Can you two stop? Let’s try and wait a little longer than a day before starting a friendship-destroying fight, yeah?”

Ron frowns, but lowers the feather to the table. “Sorry, Hermione.”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry, too. I could have been nicer about telling you how to do it the right way.”

“Yeah, you could’ve,” Ron agrees.

“Ron!” Haven hisses.

“ _Sorry_! It’s fine, Hermione. I was just feeling stupid and so I reacted badly.”

“It’s okay,” Hermione replies. 

Haven looks at the two of them doubtfully, but they seem to have gotten over themselves fairly quickly; they have moved on to taking turns with the feather and stealing it from each other, and by the end of class, they are laughing quietly together.

* * *

“Alright, Wood.” Marcus sits down across from Oliver, Cassius beside him and two boys who look like they’re Fred and George’s age flanking them. “Allow me to introduce you to your doom. This is Adrian Pucey, Slytherin’s Seeker, currently the best Seeker at Hogwarts, and certainly better than whoever your team’s gonna pull out from the woodwork now that Weasley’s gone. That’s Terrence Higgs,” he points to the sandy-haired boy on his left, “our other - what was the word you used? decent? yes, our other decent Chaser.”

Oliver’s back straightens comically, his hackles raising at Marcus’ perceived insult, and his face takes on a mulish cast. “I’ve seen you play,” he grunts at Adrian begrudgingly. “You’re good. Not as good as Charlie was, of course, but you’re better than Diggory and probably better than whoever Ravenclaw’ll be tossing out of their nest. Your one problem is that you’re scared of being hit by one of the other balls on the pitch.”

“I notice,” Adrian muses goadingly, his voice slipping awkwardly between two registers, reminding Haven of Piers Polkiss’ older brother, whose voice had started cracking at fourteen, and whose slip-sliding range was accompanied by scraggly hairs on his pointy chin, and patches of pimples cropping up on his cheeks and forehead, “that you haven’t said anything about how you think I’ll do against the Gryffindor Seeker, regardless of my supposed fear of the Quaffle and Bludgers. Are you afraid to admit that I’ll be able to defeat whoever you pick?”

Oliver gives him a shark-like grin. “No, Pucey. Unless a miracle happens, you’re currently the best Seeker in the school. But Gryffindor will still beat Slytherin; you may have the best Seeker, and you may have Flint as one of your Chasers, but _my_ Chasers are better than the other two, and, like I told Flint at breakfast, my Beaters are far superior to yours, _and_ I’m a better Keeper than you’ve got. You may have the advantage of a good Seeker, but Gryffindor’s practically got the Cup already; all we’ve gotta do is score on your sorry excuse for a Keeper, and keep your shots out of our goals. It’ll be like taking gold from a Niffler.”

Cassius snorts as he sets up his pieces on the chessboard Ron sets in the centre of the table, between two gold plates piled high with food. “I don’t know where you’ve been during Care of Magical Creatures, Wood, but even Kettleburn has difficulty getting the Nifflers to give up their gold. If that’s the comparison you’re going with, I wish you luck. Alright, Weasley, white goes first.”

“Pawn to E3,” Ron says, and Haven watches the intricately carved piece march forward two spaces, grumbling bitterly about always being first.

“I don’t need you to wish me luck,” Oliver dimples menacingly, his teeth gleaming in the candlelight. “I can be very persuasive. I assure you that beating your sorry excuse for a team will be extremely easy.”

“What’s that?” Haven hears Hermione ask curiously. She turns her attention in that direction just in time to see a tawny owl push itself off the table to perch on one of the window-sills high above them.

“It’s called a Remembrall,” Neville tells her, his voice sulkier than Haven has heard it since they met. “As you can see,” he scowls down at the delicate glass ball resting innocently in his hand, “it turns red when you’ve forgotten something.”

“So what have you forgotten?”

“That’s the trouble with Remembralls. They tell you that you’ve forgotten something, but not _what_ you’ve forgotten.”

“That sounds useless,” Haven observes.

Neville shrugs. “It is, but Gran likes to give me interesting magical objects every now and then. I guess it’s a good way to get me to work on remembering things.” He slips the Remembrall into one of the folds in his robe and takes a bite of his food.

“What other things has she given you?” Hermione asks, sitting forward, her eyes lighting up in intrigue.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” she hears Marcus inquire in a low voice, and the uncertainty in his tone draws her attention away from Hermione and Neville, who continue their conversation about magical objects in low tones.

“Of course not,” Percy replies. “Potions is one of my favourite subjects. Besides, I’ve seen you in class, and it’s not like you don’t _try._ If you didn’t, I wouldn’t be willing to tutor you because it’s OWL year, and I don’t want to be wasting my time. As long as you actually make an effort -”

“Of course I will!” Marcus interrupts in affront. “I’m not lazy, Weasley. I may _look_ like a Troll, but I’m not stupid or lazy like one.”

Percy rolls his eyes impatiently. “I didn’t say you were, Flint. In fact, you may have noticed that I said the reason I’m willing to help is because I _know_ you aren’t lazy or stupid. And you don’t look like a troll, you’ve just got bad teeth, and that’s an easy enough fix.”

Marcus looks uncomfortable at Percy’s words, and shifts in his seat. He is not the only one who startles at the unexpected cackle that comes from Ron and Cassius' direction a few moments later.

Haven stares at Ron in disbelief as he grins at Cassius, who looks shocked as he glances between the chessboard and the place where his opponent is dancing like a fool.

“Um?”

“He _beat_ me,” Cassius says in confusion. “I haven’t been beaten in chess for _years_ , and he did it in under twenty minutes!”

“We told you he was good,” George says, pulling himself from his conversation with Fred and Terrence.

“You didn’t say he was _this_ good!” Cassius protests.

The twins give him an unimpressed look, the corners of their mouths twisting down and their eyelids slipping half shut. “We told you he was good. You just underestimated him. That’s not _our_ problem.” Fred turns back to Terrence. “You said your father didn’t notice that the painting on his cup was missing?”

Terrence shakes his head, laughing slightly. “No, he didn’t. He was shocked when the people walked up to his cup while he was drinking from it and pressed themselves into the sides again.”

“Fred and I were helping our Mum cook dinner this summer,” George offers with good humor, ”and he managed to Transfigure one of the potatoes into an ear. It ended up on Bill’s plate during supper, and he _flipped_ out.”

Bored with the conversations around her, Haven pushes her plate aside and makes her way over to the Slytherin table, where she can see Daphne, Blaise, Millie, and Theo sitting across from each other, not far from where Lionel and Gabriel are seated.

“You guys should all sit with us at dinner,” Haven says, sinking onto the bench next to Lionel. “Hi, I’m Haven.” She sticks her hand out for him to shake, which he does, before gesturing back at the Gryffindor table. “There’s plenty of room, and I don’t think anyone’ll even think it’s weird. We’ve had three of your Quidditch players over there, plus Cassius, over there since breakfast, and there’s plenty to talk about.”

“Let’s see how Flying goes before we make any commitments,” Daphne says amusedly. “How’s Gryffindor, by the way? Everything you dreamed and more?”

“I love it,” Haven gushes. “They all seem so nice. What’s Slytherin like?”

“Pretty good,” Millie says in her low voice. “Malfoy’s already crowned himself the king of the first-years, and no one’s pushing against it because his family’s got enough money to put the Muggle queen to shame. Hopefully he’ll figure out that no one actually likes him soon. It’s only been a day, and the most interesting things he’s got to say are ‘my father _blah blah blah_.’ He also complains about you a lot. You and Lionel here have made quite the impression.”

“That’s an understatement,” Theo mutters. “And Crabbe and Goyle like Malfoy, Millie. They follow him wherever he goes like lost Crups.”

“Crabbe and Goyle aren’t smart enough to have an opinion on anything,” Blaise counters snootily. “I bet Mr Malfoy hired them to act like guard-dogs for his son because he knows that Malfoy’s got a gift for making people want to kill him.”

“I really don’t understand why Draco is the way he is. Mrs Malfoy is a good friend of my father’s, and she’s an absolute doll,” Daphne says thoughtfully. “I bet she’s the reason Malfoy tried apologising to you on the train yesterday. She’s always seemed like a pacifist, but maybe I’m misreading her.” The tone Daphne adopts makes it clear that she doesn’t think she’s misread Mrs Malfoy at all.

“Whatever the reason,” Lionel grunts, “Malfoy is an irritating prick who can’t stop himself from parading around the common room like he’s better than the rest of us.”

“In reality,” a red-haired girl with a constellation of freckles across her face says, “he’s just more inbred than the rest of us. I don’t care how nice Narcissa Malfoy is, she used to be a Black, and everyone knows they’ve got no qualms against marrying their own cousins.”

“We’ve all got some Black blood in us, Mafalda,” Daphne argues.

“Not as much as she’s got, though. My grandmother may have been a Black, and your great-great-grandmother, as well, but Narcissa _is_ a Black, through and through, and it’s not like the Malfoy family believes in introducing non-Pure-bloods into their family, either. Malfoy may not look like Crabbe and Goyle do, but I guarantee you that’s only because the Malfoy family and Black family have never intermarried before, and both his parents are unusually attractive, especially given who their parents were.”

“Were their parents spectacularly ugly or something?” Haven wonders.

“Druella Rosier and Cygnus Black - Narcissa’s parents - were nowhere near as beautiful as she is. And she got really rare colouring for a Black, too. And Lucius Malfoy’s parents. Well, let’s just say that the inbreeding was more apparent in them than it is in him,” Theo answers.

“Really?” Haven asks before Daphne hisses at her to be quiet. The reason for this becomes apparent very quickly, when Malfoy steps into view with a sickly grin on his face.

“Good afternoon, Potter. Are you ready to make a fool of yourself on a broom?”

Haven snorts. “I’m ready to make a fool of _you_ on a broom. Haven’t you heard? My father was a Chaser, and I love heights. There’s no way I’ll be anything less than spectacular.”

Malfoy scowls at her. “We’ll see.” He turns on his heel and walks away, his robes swishing around his ankles dramatically.

“Whatever,” Haven mutters to his back.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Theo says, his eyes serious. “Malfoy’s been flying since he could walk, and he can make your life miserable if you’re not careful. Try not to egg him on intentionally.”

“But he makes it so easy!”

“He’s a peacock. Try not to offend him, or he’ll find a way to get you expelled, or worse.”

Haven purses her lips and says nothing, choosing instead to walk with her friends to their flying lesson. They engage in carefree chatter, and she allows their light, lilting tones to soothe her. Though she will never admit it, she hopes she knows what she’s doing, too. It would be terrible to have confronted Malfoy the way she did and have it all backfire on her.

She is nervous all through Astronomy, which is in one of Hogwarts’ many towers. Similar to the ceiling of the Great Hall, the Astronomy tower portrays the sky; it seems to be a permanent rendition of a cloudless night, though Professor Sinistra displays its capabilities, cycling the sky through a year’s worth of constellations. Haven finds herself bored, even through the tale of Orion, and though Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones are sweet and friendly, her mind wanders to her upcoming Flying class.

Her worries are unnecessary; under Madam Hooch’s sharp eye, Haven coaxes her rickety old broomstick into her hand with a single word, and she can feel how eager the broom is as soon as she wraps her fingers around it. When she looks around herself, she can see that she is the first to have succeeded. Beside her, Ron’s broom is much less eager to lift itself into the air; Hermione’s makes a jerking motion before falling back to the ground; Neville’s broom doesn’t move at all. Blaise and Theo are almost immediately successful, as is Malfoy, and Haven cannot help the frown that crosses her face at that particular observation.

Once all her fellow first-years have managed to coax their reluctant brooms into their hands, Madam Hooch has them mount the middle of the handle.

“On three,” she tells them seriously, “I want all of you to push yourselves _gently_ into the air and hover there until I tell you to come back down. One, two,”

Before she can get to three, Neville, who Haven had noticed seemed paler than usual throughout the process, shoots into the air in an uncontrolled spiralling motion. Despite Madam Hooch’s commands to descend, Neville’s broom carries him erratically around the grounds before bucking wildly. Neville sails forward through the air, catapulting over the front of the broom’s handle and falling to the ground. Even as far away from the action as she is, Haven can hear the wet snap that accompanies Neville’s grounding.

Madam Hooch rushes towards Neville’s prone form, and Haven and the others follow her with a morbid sense of curiosity. “Broken,” she hears Hooch mutter. “Come on, Longbottom. Let’s get you to the Hospital Wing.” She turns a sharp glare on the rest of the class. “Stay off your brooms until I return. If I discover any of you in the air on a broom, or if I hear from your classmates after the fact that you were on one despite my explicit instructions, I _will_ arrange a very unpleasant series of detentions for you.” And with that, Hooch marches off, almost dragging Neville behind her.

“What a lump,” Malfoy says into Haven’s ear, and she startles; she hadn’t realised he was there. “I suppose this isn’t much of a surprise, though; Longbottom is practically a Squib, anyways. He couldn’t perform any magic at all until he was dropped out of a window.” He laughs quietly, and the sound of it is mocking, and a little mean. Haven finds herself liking Malfoy even less than she already had. “What’s that?” he wonders aloud, pointing, and Haven follows his finger to a round object, shining where it is nestled in the grass.

It looks like Neville’s Remembrall. When Malfoy scoops it up, the translucent globe remains as clear as glass; there is none of the red smoke curling through it like there was when Neville was holding it. Malfoy tosses the Remembrall up in the air, and it catches the sunlight, glittering as the warmth from the sky refracts through it on its way down, resulting in a hazy rainbow circling the glass. It lands with a solid thunk, and Malfoy’s fingers curl around it, cutting through the halo of light.

“Give it here, Malfoy,” Haven says quietly. “It’s not yours. Neville’s Gran gave that to him.”

Malfoy snorts derisively. “It’s a Remembrall. Only forgetful people have them. I bet Longbottom won’t even realise it’s gone. He’ll have forgotten that it ever existed by dinnertime.”

Haven grinds her teeth. “Neville will notice that it’s gone. _Give_ it to me.” The force behind her words draws Ron’s attention, but Haven shakes her head at him, and he returns to his conversation with Blaise and Theo. 

Malfoy takes a step back, straddling his broom as he does so. “If you want it so bad, come and get it,” he challenges, pushing into the air and hovering above her with a smug smirk on his face. He tosses the Remembrall up into the air again, and catches it with the tips of his fingers.

Haven growls, mounting her own broomstick and pushing into the air. Her sudden movement draws the attention of the other first-years. “Haven!” Hermione says from where she is standing with their Slytherin and Ravenclaw friends. “Madam Hooch said not to get on the brooms while she was gone! You’ll get detention.”

Haven ignores her, leaning forward on her broom. It shoots towards Malfoy, whose eyes widen in shock; he manages to fly out of the way, but it is a near thing, with Haven rocketing past him, less than a metre between them before he finally manages to put any substantial space in-between her and himself.

With a snort of disgust, Malfoy says, “If you want it so bad, catch it!” and tosses the Remembrall into the sky, where it shimmers a cool gold as it curves upwards through the sun-soaked air, rotating and revolving up and up and _up_ , until it suddenly reaches its zenith and comes careening back to earth; Haven leans down subconsciously, and her broom shoots forward, the sleek line of her motions smooth and straight as she moves through the whistling wind to intercept the arcing Remembrall before it shatters on the ground.

It lands in her hand, and her fingers curl around the smooth glass, and the aurous band circumventing the shining delicacy and cutting through the glimmering grooves circulating across the surface is so fragile and fine that it hardly registers against the nerves of her fingertips. Haven holds the Remembrall up against the unblemished ether, and suddenly the translucent orb is shot through with ultramarine and gold.

“ _Haven Potter!_ ” an unfortunately familiar voice shouts, and any sense of accomplishment that had settled into her bones upon landing immediately evaporates. Haven turns, a sense of dread threading and knotting itself along her spine, tightening her muscles and drawing her shoulders back in preparation for a sharp blow that she knows will never come. McGonagall is striding towards her, her steps short and fast. Her robes swirl around her ankles, but they don’t seem to be enough of a tripping hazard to be a deterrent; McGonagall is by her side, her hand closing firmly around Haven’s right biceps in a grip as steely as her expression, and the eyes of every first-year other than Neville are looking at them curiously.

“Never in all my years,” McGonagall mutters furiously, her brogue thickening, “follow me, Potter.”

Sensing that the words are a command, Haven hands her broomstick to Ron, and dutifully dogs McGonagall’s brisk footsteps back towards the castle. McGonagall leads her through the winding hallways, which look familiar after her exploration of the first two floors earlier that morning.

“You have detention with Professor Quirrell for that stunt,” McGonagall says grimly, drawing to a stop outside the Charms classroom. She raps on the door, which creaks open to reveal Percy’s inquisitive brown eyes and shock of red hair. “I need to speak with Wood, Weasley.”

The door closes, opening again a moment later to eject Oliver’s impressive bulk. “Professor. Haven,” he greets, his chin dipping, and his voice and expression displaying his interest, “long time no see.”

“Wood, I’ve found you your new Seeker,” McGonagall tells him brusquely, and Haven feels her eyes widen.

“What, really?” Oliver’s eyes gleam, and he grins toothily. He nods in Haven’s direction. “Her? She’s got the build for it, to be sure, but are you sure she’s gonna be able to play Seeker. I mean, has she even got any experience?” He grimaces when Haven shakes her head. “No Seeker is probably better than a complete rookie, Professor. We’ve got a good team; sure, we don’t have Charlie this year, but we’re good enough to face off against the other Houses. I mean, you’ve seen us play. I’m the best Keeper at the school, and our Chasers and Beaters are all pretty spectacular. We can hold our own.”

“And I’m telling you you don’t have to,” McGonagall argues. “Just - take her onto the Quidditch pitch, lend her a broom, and have her try catching things. You have to see it to believe it, but she caught Longbottom’s Remembrall after a truly impressive dive.”

Haven holds up her hand where the Remembrall still rests, the clear sphere giving off an innocent glow in the dim light of the sconces lining the walls. Oliver plucks it from her palm and holds it between two fingers. He blows out a breath. “Alright. We’ll give it a try. Meet me on the Quidditch pitch after class, alright, and we’ll do some drills to see if you’re really as good as the Professor thinks. I’ll let you know what the verdict is before dinner, Professor. If she’s on the team, we’ll have to find a way around the broom restrictions. If she’s not,” he shrugs carelessly, the movement fluid and oddly graceful on his big frame, “well, it won’t matter if she’s not.”

With that vote of confidence, Oliver turns and slips back into the Charms classroom, closing the door behind him.

“Now,” McGonagall says, “let’s go arrange your detention.”

Professor Quirrell’s classroom is on the seventh floor for a reason that Haven cannot determine; nor, it seems, can McGonagall. They manage to arrive just as Quirrell has dismissed his last students, and though he seems surprised by their appearance, he invites them in with little more than a raised eyebrow.

“Miss Potter,” McGonagall begins, “seems to be as prone to making trouble as her father was, and has managed to secure herself several days’ worth of detentions.”

Professor Quirrell purses his lips, and Haven thinks that he looks like he’s fighting a smile at this news. “Already?” he asks. “It’s the first day of classes. What did you do?”

“I was getting Neville’s Remembrall back from Malfoy,” Haven mutters petulantly.

Quirrell snorts amusedly. “Out of her and James, who do you think has the larger hero’s complex?” he asks.

McGonagall smiles thinly. “As of right now? James has her beat. In the future, though, I have no doubt that she will surpass her father.”

“You knew my father?” Haven asks curiously, reassessing Quirrell. He looks as though he’s quite a few years younger than Aunt Petunia, but Haven also has the impression that McGonagall has several years on her aunt, and she has no gray hairs, or wrinkles, or anything beyond her stately demeanor to lend credence to the idea.

Quirrell gives her a peculiar look. “I knew of him, though I didn’t know him personally. I was in Ravenclaw, and a year above both your parents.”

“Could you tell me about them sometime?” Haven asks. “Aunt Petunia didn’t know my father very well, and she didn’t see much of Mother after she started attending Hogwarts.”

“I don’t see why we can’t try to arrange something, though you must understand that no matter what our conversations outside of class may address, I will not allow myself to show you favoritism during Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Okay,” she replies agreeably.

“Perhaps,” McGonagall says, her stern expression tempered by something Haven would call fondness on anyone else, “the two of you can negotiate your information sessions at some other time. Quirinius, I am designating you as her supervisor for her detentions. Potter, I believe you have a meeting that you need to attend.”

“Yes, Professor,” Haven replies. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you this evening, Professor Quirrell?”

“Right after dinner,” he agrees with a serene smile.

Haven hurries through the corridors and down seven flights of stairs; she makes a wrong turn twice, and by the time she reaches the Quidditch pitch, she is out of breath. Luckily, it seems like Oliver has just arrived as well; he carries a solid wooden chest under one arm, and a broom under the other.

“Here, Haven.” He tosses the broom at her, and she catches it, noticing that it is in far better condition than the broom she had used during Flying class. The handle is smooth and polished, and the twigs and bristles of the actual broom are neat, all of them facing the same direction.

Oliver pops the chest open. “So in Quidditch,” he begins, and his voice grows increasingly excited the longer he speaks, “there are two teams playing at the same time. Each team has seven players. The Keeper - me - guards the goal posts,” he points to the sets of hoops sticking up from the ground on either side of the pitch. “The Chasers try to score goals with the Quaffle - that’s the big red ball. Each goal is worth ten points. The Beaters use their bats to aim the Bludgers at the other team’s players.” He points down at the pair of black balls that are vibrating in their chains. “Then, there’s the Snitch.” Oliver opens a small cage that is half-hidden in the chest, reaches in, and holds his hand out, his fingers falling open. A dove-gray cloth lies flat against his palm, covering the skin. In the center is an intricately carved golden ball that’s even smaller than the Remembrall. Before her eyes, it unfolds delicate silver wings, which flutter rapidly as the Snitch rises slowly into the air. “Whichever Seeker catches the Snitch gains a hundred and fifty points, and the match ends. Getting the Snitch doesn’t always mean a win, but it usually does. There aren’t any rules against Seekers scoring goals or otherwise interfering with the match, but usually they stay pretty well out of it and focus on finding the Snitch.”

Haven nods thoughtfully when Oliver looks in her direction to see if she’s following. He wraps the gray cloth around the Snitch again and puts it back into the cage, locking it. “Snitches have flesh imprints,” he explains. “The first person to touch them is always the person who catches them, that way no one can mess with the results of the game. Or, at least, no one can mess with who ended the game and got a hundred and fifty points.”

He hands her a heavy metal-reinforced wooden bat. She wraps her hands around the weathered handle, watching attentively as he grabs one for himself and unlocks one of the Bludgers’ chains. The Bludger leaps into the air, flinging itself high up, and then speeding back down towards them. “Hit it!” Oliver orders, and Haven swings her bat at it when the Bludger comes close. The wood and metal make a sharp cracking sound, and vibrations course through her arms as the Bludger ricochets away from her. It boomerangs back, and Oliver drops his bat, wrapping his arms around the black ball and wrestling it back into its chains. He runs his arm across his forehead, wiping the sweat away, and nods at her. “Not too shabby. We’ll work on your arm, just in case, if you get on the team. Now, I’m going to throw these small balls, or charm them to fly around, and you’re going to get on that broom and try to catch them. Up in the air, kid.”

Haven mounts the broom again, shoving off the ground and into the air, and she swoops forward to catch the first ball that Oliver throws. She spends the next hour catching increasingly more complicated tosses, until Oliver motions for her to land again. “Welcome to the team, kid,” he says cheerfully, throwing an arm around her shoulders and beaming down at her. “I’ll let McGonagall know, and we’ll figure out the broom situation by the time our first practice rolls around.”

Haven grins at him. “Okay. When is the first practice?”

“Sometime next week. I haven’t really figured everything out yet. Oh, and let’s keep this a secret, alright? Obviously we’ll tell the team, but the other teams think they’ve got us beat right now, and I’d like to keep it that way so that you can surprise them when we play the first game. Maybe it’ll throw them off.”

“So I’m going to be your safety net?” Haven frowns thoughtfully as Oliver crouches down to lift up the chest.

“Eh. I was thinking more like a secret weapon,” he disagrees. “C’mon, let’s head inside for dinner.”

* * *

“So what did McGonagall do when she took you inside?” Ron asks before shoving a bite of food into his mouth.

“She gave me detention with Professor Quirrell,” Haven tells him. “Oh, by the way, here’s your Remembrall, Nev.”

He takes it from her, watching the globe as it sits stationary in his hand. This time, there is no red smoke curling through it. “Thanks.”

“What did you remember?” Hermione asks, gesturing to the colourless object. “You said it turns red when you’ve forgotten something, and it was red during lunch; now it’s not.”

Neville sets his Remembrall aside, looking around at where Oliver, Marcus, and Adrian are talking about Quidditch; Fred and George have once again captured Terrence’s attention with stories of their pranks; Percy is sitting farther up the table, talking to Prajav and Amaryllis, but he glances their way every now and then and sends them a smile; Millie, Theo, Blaise, Daphne, and Lionel are holding their own conversations, threading words in and out of the swirling mass of syllables around them. “I just remembered that Gran told me that even though I’m not at home, there are still people who will care about me.”

“Of course there are,” Haven reassures him; she grabs his arm and walks with him over to the Hufflepuff table. Hannah and Susan wave them over, and she and Neville sit down across from them.

“How’re you doing?” Susan asks Neville. “Your arm looked bad, and Madam Hooch said it was broken, right?”

“It was,” Neville says modestly, “but Madam Pomfrey fixed it up really quickly. She must be a really good Healer.”

“Daddy says that she was the best Healer in her generation,” Hannah says softly. “He always sounds like he’s proud of her for picking Hogwarts over St Mungo’s.”

“No matter how good a person is at Healing, working at Hogwarts can be more stressful than St Mungo’s,” a sandy-haired boy says. “Kids tend to get sick or injured more than almost anyone else, not including Aurors, of course. A Healer would have to be well versed in more magical maladies to work in Hogwarts than they’d have to be to work at St Mungo’s. There’s more room for specifics if you Heal somewhere that isn’t a school.”

“I don’t think they were really looking for that much detail, Cedric,” an older girl with pink hair snorts.

Cedric smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, guys. Healing really interests me. I hope my affinity is either Healing or Inyanga. But Madam Pomfrey is a really well-known Healer in the English Wixen world.”

“Well,” Neville says again, “she’s really good.”

The conversation falls flat for a moment, until Cedric says, “I think we killed it, Dora. We’d better leave the firsties to their discussion. We can always join in some other time.”

Dora shrugs, and she and Cedric turn to talk to some of their older Housemates.

“I wanted to apologise for how I was in Astronomy earlier,” Haven tells Susan and Hannah. “I know it seemed like I wasn’t interested in what you guys had to say; I was caught up in my head about Flying.”

“It’s fine,” Susan shrugs, and Hannah nods in agreement.

“Thanks. So you mentioned that you’d heard another version of the story of Orion, Susan?” Haven directs her attention to the red-haired girl as she launches into a version of the myth of Orion that is very different from the one Professor Sinistra had told them.

“A lot of Greek and Roman myths have different versions,” Susan says when Haven mentions it. “That’s why I like mythology so much. It’s a matter of eye-witness account. Not everyone experiences the world in the same way, you know?”

Haven finds herself mulling Susan’s words over throughout detention and long into the night, wondering what they could mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely irrelevant A/N: my family and I recently watched the Back to the Future movies (which are fantastic, by the way) for the first time, and I thought maybe it could be interesting to write a HPxBttF fanfic, and then I realized that Cursed Child is Harry Potter fanfic crossed over with Back to the Future, with an evil Doc Brown for a little spice. Needless to say, with that stunning example, I will not be writing an HPxBttF crossover.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I am no longer feeling inspired enough to continue writing this, not least because it would undoubtedly be an extensive and time-consuming project. When I first started posting this, I thought that my intense dislike for incomplete stories would prompt me to see this one out. I'm sad to say that that is not the case; The Butterfly Effect has become tedious and tiresome to me, and I am not at all motivated to complete it. 
> 
> In an effort to stick to my word, these next few chapters (for those of you who wish to read them) are the plans I had for each year at Hogwarts, starting with where I left off in first year, and ending with Voldemort's eventual defeat. The earlier years are far more detailed than the later years; none of this is edited, as these were just bulleted plans that I hoped to follow; I hope I managed to patch up any plot points I added as I went along, so as not to leave any gaping holes. If you do read these next few chapters and have questions about anything, feel free to ask; I'll do my best to answer.
> 
> In the unlikely event that I decide to pick this back up someday, this chapter and the next few will disappear; but, again, that is a highly unlikely future.
> 
> Once again, I'm very sorry to those of you who were looking forward to an actual story that would one day be complete; I'm afraid I just can't commit.
> 
> Thank you for your hits and kudos and comments, and please enjoy!

  * Haven’s first potions class goes disastrously. Snape asks questions she can’t answer, gives points to the Slytherins for wrong answers, pairs Haven and Neville up, and proceeds to give them both detention. Haven is annoyed that she has another detention - she just finished the set with Quirrell. Hagrid invites Haven and her friends to his hut, where he accidentally lets slip about Flamel and Fluffy. Haven and Neville go to detention, where Snape tries to explain that he was once a Death Eater, that he is now a spy for Dumbledore, and that even though he doesn’t actually hate them, he has to treat them as though he does in public. He apologises and offers them extra potions lessons, and while Neville is quick to forgive and forget, Haven absolutely refuses to accept Snape’s apology. She storms out and heads to the Quidditch pitch, where she spends the night flying around. Quirrell sees her flying around and joins her, allowing her to complain about Snape in great detail. He tells her that Snape must be very bold indeed to have spied on Voldemort.  
  

  * The kids work to find out who Flamel is. The first Quidditch match takes place, and though Haven’s Slytherin friends are shocked to learn about her placement on the team, that doesn’t stop Marcus and Terrence from catching her when the jinx knocks her off her broom. At the same time, Hermione, Ron, and Neville manage to distract everyone in the stands, because they can’t quite figure out _who_ is jinxing Haven’s broom. Gryffindor wins the match. Malfoy tries to challenge Haven to a duel - his reasoning being that she’s on the Quidditch team, and therefore not well-thought-out. Hermione interrupts, saying that duels aren’t allowed, and she pitches her voice loud enough for everyone to hear; Malfoy ends up with a detention.  
  

  * On Halloween, everyone goes to the feast, and when Quirrell announces the troll, Dumbledore sends the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors to their common rooms, and the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins to some of the classrooms on the fourth floor. Once everything has settled down, the Gryffindors reveal that they have plans to celebrate Samhain; Amaryllis and Percy go to the Room of Requirement, and they open up a passage to the Gryffindor common room. Once all the Gryffindors are in the Room, they begin their celebration, which involves some dancing. The most important aspect is the bonfire, which allows the Gryffindors to commune with their dead. Haven is approached by the ghosts of her parents, who end up telling her that Sirius is innocent. The next day, Haven mentions this to her friends, and Susan tells her aunt, who begins to go through the trial records. She finds out that there was no trial, and pushes to have one. Sirius is proven innocent and is sent to a Mind Healer.  
  

  * Christmas comes. Hermione writes a letter from home telling them that Flamel is an Alchemist best known for the Philosopher's Stone. Haven receives her invisibility cloak and the flute from Hagrid, and she and Ron sneak into the third floor corridor and try out the music theory on Fluffy. It works, and Haven and Ron grow concerned with how easy it is to bypass Fluffy.  
  

  * After finding out about Flamel, Haven tells McGonagall that the Stone needs better protections and is told that McGonagall will look into it.  
  

  * Hagrid sends a note about the dragon. The kids see it hatch, and then they plan out what to do. Eventually, they come to the conclusion that Charlie should come pick it up, and Haven and Hermione help bring the Dragon up to the Astronomy tower. Charlie comes to get the Dragon in person; Haven promptly develops a crush. Haven and Hermione forget the cloak in the tower, but when Filch confronts them, Quirrell shows up out of nowhere and tells the caretaker that the girls were doing him a favor. He gives Malfoy detention for being out late without permission, and - once Filch is gone - warns the girls to be more careful next time.  
  

  * Quirrell (who has made it past all the traps once before and has since realised that he can’t get the Stone on his own) kidnaps Haven after the DADA exam at the end of the year. Her friends don’t realise she’s missing (she tends to wander) until dinner, at which point they alert the teachers. It is not until they notice that Quirrell is missing as well that they begin to realize what has happened (they remember he’d told her to stay behind.) McGonagall goes to floo Dumbledore, who is conveniently meeting with Fudge (who needs his advice about the Sirius Black issue that Haven brought up after Halloween), and the Professors send their students to their common rooms and search for Haven. Haven’s friends, of course, don’t go, remembering how Haven’s scar had been hurting in DADA, and how someone had jinxed her broom, and how Fluffy was standing on a trap door, and they remember learning about Flamel and telling McGonagall, and realize she did nothing (and it is this that begins to break their trust in adults, because they go to her and she does _nothing_ ), and they go to save Haven themselves. Of course, by the time they reach her (not all of them, because sacrifices have to be made) Haven has already rescued herself (in this world, she doesn’t know how the Mirror of Erised works, and so despite Quirrellmort’s prompting, she can do nothing; it is a surprise when she gets the Stone out - such a surprise, in fact, that she drops it and it shatters before Quirrellmort can summon it; he becomes furious and when he attacks her, her touch burns him and Voldemort flees), and Dumbledore is arriving, and so are the Professors, but it doesn’t matter, because they came for her (there is more than one hero in this story.) Haven recovers, and receives an abundance of candy and scoldings and a toilet seat, and she plays Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup, and Gryffindor wins, and on the night of the leaving feast, she and her friends exchange addresses and telephone numbers and making plans, and then they have to sit at the House tables.  
  

  * Dumbledore awards points to everyone that helped Haven (and it’s people from every House; they all did something beyond the pale, something impressive) and it results in the first ever four way tie (because this Dumbledore may play favorites, but he does it well, does it so that no one can tell, does it for the greater good, and this time that means having multiple favorites, it means unity [because Tom is still out there, and war is coming, and Dumbledore is finally learning to subscribe to the idea that no man is left behind - even ancient wizards can learn new things, and great wizards can learn new things from children]).




	8. Chapter 8

  * Over the summer, they write letters and make phone calls, and when Owling doesn’t work they use the Muggle mailing system, and there are outings and everyone has a good time (they’re kids, okay, they’re allowed to just… be kids, and friendships are allowed to be easy.)  
  

  * Haven freaks out when she finds Dobby in her room after attending Vernon’s business meeting - she’s a part of the family, this time, and so she plays along, she acts the angel for Vernon (and he gets the deal, and they have a blast picking out that vacation home in Majorca) and then she gets a warning letter for underage magic (what is apparition, she wonders) when the House Elf leaves. By the time she’s written to her friends and received letters back, she knows that Dobby belongs to Malfoy, and Hermione is on her House Elf Rights rampage.  
  

  * Haven spends the last month of vacation house hopping (with the Dursleys’ permission) and generally having a good time with all her friends. She and Hermione go school shopping with the Weasleys, and witness the entire altercation between Mr Weasley and Malfoy Sr. Then she spends a few more days with her friends, and heads to Hogwarts with the Greengrass family (and they’re not late, but it still closes, so the Greengrasses have them floo to the Headmaster’s office. They make it with more than enough time for the Sorting.  
  

  * Not only is Lockhart a narcissistic twit, but Haven can’t help but think he’s justified. After all, he’s superbly attractive, and Haven can’t help but be infatuated with him - he’s done _so much_ in his life. Despite the boys’ disapproval, Haven isn’t the only one who thinks Lockhart is Merlin reincarnate. Of course, once Theo Nott (who has even better recall than Hermione) points out and proves to all the girls in their circle of friends that Lockhart is a fraud, Haven and everyone else loses their adoration for him in seconds. Despite that, they assume he has some talent, otherwise people wouldn’t believe him. Right?  
  

  * Haven’s practicing Quidditch with the Gryffindor team when Malloy and the Slytherins interrupt. Despite the older kids’ attempts at intervention, Haven and Ron get detention for attacking Malfoy, and Malfoy gets detention for calling Hermione a Mudblood.  
  

  * Haven’s detention is with Lockhart, and it goes pretty much as it did in canon, only Lockhart talks himself up to Haven. Ron is assigned to clean the trophy room under Filch’s supervision. Malfoy has detention with Hagrid, feeding roosters and watering pumpkins and essentially doing other menial tasks that his father will certainly hear about.  
  

  * Haven does not attend the death day party, and instead attends the Halloween Feast. She learns of Mrs. Norris’ situation at the same time as everyone else, and becomes convinced that Malfoy is the culprit when he sneers at all her Muggleborn friends while saying that Mudbloods will be next. Instead of celebrating Samhain, the Gryffindors spend the night discussing some of the legends of Hogwarts in the common room before having yet another sleepover.  
  

  * Dobby demonstrates his particular brand of unhelpfulness, Lockhart vanishes Haven’s bones (resulting in everyone thinking he’s an inept idiot), and Colin Creevey is petrified.   
  

  * Lockhart holds the duelling club, and Haven and co only go when they find out that Snape is also teaching. Even though Haven has her differences with Snape, they all want him to show Lockhart up, and enjoy it when he does. After, Lockhart pairs Malfoy and Ginny together (he chooses Malfoy first, and Ginny volunteers because she’s even more reckless than Ron, who has mellowed since coming to Hogwarts, and she hates that Malfoy’s father humiliated her father, and there’s been bad blood between the Malfoys and Weasleys for decades, anyway), and Malfoy conjures his snake. Ginny freaks out (she’s terrified that Malfoy knows what’s going on, knows that she dreams of huge snakes, knows that her greatest fear is snakes) when the snake approaches her, and Haven rushes forward to distract it (Gryffindors protect their own) and subsequently reveals to everyone including herself that she is a Parselmouth (apparently wixen can’t talk to snakes, who knew.)   
  

  * Of course, because Haven is far more social than in canon, and she doesn’t tend to cause problems that people take issue with, she is not ostracized. Life goes on as normal. However, since Haven realises she’s been hearing snakes in the walls, she’s convinced that Malfoy is the Heir - summoning a snake in front of a huge group of people is a risky statement, after all; it is almost as risky as petrifying a cat and writing on the walls in blood. With this in mind, Haven decides that they should interrogate Malfoy, and asks her Slytherin friends who Malfoy is closest to in Slytherin. The answer turns out to be Crabbe and Goyle and Pansy Parkinson, and so Haven and her friends come up with a plan to talk to Malfoy (none of her Slytherin friends can ask because he’ll know that they’re onto him, so their best option is Polyjuice.) Percy and Cassius make the Polyjuice in the Room of Requirement, turning it into an impromptu Potions lesson for the younger years at the same time. They take the Polyjuice before Christmas break, and work out that it would be best to do it after breakfast, so that they can get into the Slytherin common room with little to no difficulty. Haven and Ron are accompanied by Neville, and do their best to interrogate Malfoy without seeming to be someone other than who they’re pretending to be. At one point, when Malfoy insults Mr Weasley and Ron struggles not to react, it is Mafalda Weasley who calls him out and tells him to leave her uncle alone. Soon afterwards, and with evidence pointing away from Malfoy being the Heir, the three Gryffindors leave the Slytherin common room and release Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson from their confinement.  
  

  * Everyone is encouraged to return home for Christmas, and Haven goes to the Dursleys’, and writes to her friends over the break.  
  

  * Ginny drops the Diary on her way to breakfast one morning after Christmas break, and Haven comes across it. Ron recognizes the name from his trophy room cleaning, and they look through it together. They both learn about Hagrid’s supposed involvement and go to talk to him about it, leaving the Diary behind.   
  

  * Hagrid tells them what he knows about the Heir of Slytherin (and spiders), making it clear that he’s not the Heir. Ron and Haven hurry to class, and tell their friends their discoveries during lunch. Haven discovers that the Diary is missing, and Hermione comes to the conclusion that Tom Riddle’s Diary is working with someone who has access to the Gryffindor common room. Hagrid is arrested and taken to a holding cell that same night.  
  

  * There is a Quidditch game the next day, and Hermione runs off to the library. She comes back just as the game begins, with a page of notes about basilisks that she shows to Percy and Cassius. Later that day, Hermione and Mafalda Weasley are petrified in the second floor girls’ bathroom. After Percy and Cassius share Hermione’s theory, Haven and her friends work to figure out how people are being petrified, and they visit each location to see what the commonality is.  
  

  * Another student is petrified, as is Professor Binns, resulting in the need for a new History Professor. Remus takes the post, but only for the rest of the year.  
  

  * No closer to discovering who the Heir is, Haven and co throw themselves into their school work, making sure to take extra good notes for Hermione, who is supposed to be unpetrified before exams. Only a couple of weeks later, the Heir attacks again, taking someone into the Chamber.  
  

  * Haven and her friends find out that it is Ginny who is missing. They overhear the Professors talking about sending Lockhart to find Ginny, and show up in his office, where they find him packing up. He spills everything, and Haven disarms him. Somewhere in the commotion, Lockhart’s wand snaps, but he stupidly tries to use it to Obliviate them before they shove him into the Chamber. He manages to Obliviate himself, and so Haven has Ron go off to find one of their older friends for help, and plans to meet him in the Chamber. Haven becomes worried about Ginny, and goes down into the Chamber, leaving the doors open behind her. She manages to hold a lengthy conversation with Tom before he calls the basilisk, and Fawkes shows up with the sorting hat and has just blinded the basilisk when Ron appears with the upper year he went to find. The upper year successfully conjures a rooster just before Haven stabs the basilisk. As she fades, she manages to stab the Diary, and they all get out safely.  
  

  * Haven, Ginny, Ron and the upper year are escorted to Dumbledore’s office by Fawkes, where they find the Weasleys, Aunt Petunia, and Lucius Malfoy. Mrs Weasley and Aunt Petunia team up together against Malfoy, and Petunia even yells at Dumbledore a bit for not making sure his students were safe.  
  

  * Everyone heads for the hospital wing, and through an interesting series of events, Dobby ends up getting freed, and agrees to join Hermione’s House Elf Rights Campaign.  
  

  * In the hospital wing, arrangements are made for Ginny to visit a mind healer. Haven is cleaned up and examined to see if there will be any adverse effects from the basilisk poison and phoenix tears. Mafalda visits Ginny in the Hospital Wing, and everyone visits Haven while Madam Pomfrey keeps her to make sure she’s okay.  
  

  * When Haven is released, Mandrake potions that have been ordered (Madam Pomfrey decided it would take too long for the Mandrakes to mature and decided to order pre-made potions) are used to unpetrify any students who were victim to the basilisk’s mirrored stare.  
  

  * Gryffindor manages to win the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup, but there are no hard feelings because they’ve made progress.  
  

  * Haven asks Snape if there is such a thing as an ancestry potion because she knows that Voldemort is still alive, and wants to know if it would be possible to prove that he’s a Half-blood, like Tom told her in the Chamber. He admits that there is not and decides to develop one. It ends up being a fifth year potion, but anyone older than fifth year is allowed to use it if they make it themselves. This potion provides information from decades back about a person’s heritage, even color coding itself to indicate if a person was magical, muggle, a squib, or a deity. Several Muggleborns end up finding that they are really descended from wizards, and it goes a long way towards healing the rift between Purebloods, Half-bloods and Muggleborns. ( _In order to set up for a crossover:_ Several students learn that they have a Greek or Roman or Norse or Egyptian god somewhere in their family tree.)




	9. Chapter 9

  * Over the summer, Haven spends a week in France with Hermione in late June, goes to Egypt with the Weasleys during August (Sirius notices Peter on Ron’s shoulder and informs the Weasleys and the Ministry, so that Wormtail is dumped into Azkaban with a trial), and visits as many of her friends as possible. She is there for Marge’s visit before she goes on vacation with the Weasleys, and Marge still doesn’t like her or her parents (James and Lily were at Vernon and Petunia’s wedding, and Marge found one reason or another to not like them) and so parts of the conversation go differently - though Haven is not forced to say that she goes to a school for criminals, and Vernon doesn’t hold the Hogsmeade form over her head as a threat.   
  

  * Haven learns about the Lestranges’ escape just before her birthday, on the news, and Sirius, who she has been writing to since the end of first year, warns her that whole the brothers are Voldemort’s most loyal, Bellatrix has technically been brain-washed into it (James mentions this in _Journals Through the Ages_ ), but she doesn’t think much of it, given her excitement for her trip to Egypt (where she develops a crush on Bill). It remains unimportant until the train ride.   
  

  * On the train, Haven sits with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and some of her other friends. They manage to get there early enough that there are several open compartments, and so they do not end up in the same compartment as Lupin. When the Dementor shows up, it goes directly for her because it senses a second soul. During the struggle, where the Dementor and Tom’s soul play a game of tug-of-war, Haven ends up in the In-Between with the male version of herself from _I’ve Had Ninety-Nine Lives_ , and they have a discussion (about the Horcrux, which she learns about because when the Horcrux was removed, she saw some of its memories, specifically the conversation with Slughorn, though it was patchy and missing pieces towards the end. Baby Voldemort isn’t there because he’s been eaten by a Dementor). When Haven wakes up only a few minutes later, it is to a Horcrux-less body, no scar (the scar _was_ the Horcrux), vague memories of a discussion about Horcruxes, an intense need for chocolate, and extremely worried friends.  
  

  * While Madam Pomfrey meets with Haven to deal with the after-effects of the Dementor, Hermione, Padma, Theo and Susan meet with their Heads of House to receive Time-Turners. None of them know the others have the Time-Turners, as they are sworn to secrecy, but they do more with the devices than Hermione did in canon. All of them continue to use them throughout their Hogwarts career and are eventually inducted into the Unspeakables, among other school-mates.  
  

  * Sirius takes over the post as the History Professor; Remus switches over to DADA. Harris is the new COMC Professor  
  

  * At dinner, Haven asks Hermione if she knows anything about Horcruxes, which Hermione denies. They go to the library at the first possible minute, and look for books about them. With no luck, they ask Madam Pince, who dismisses them after being unable to find any information. She goes to Dumbledore, hoping to get some books on the subject that these students are so interested in, leaving Dumbledore to call Haven to his office for a discussion.  
  

  * Haven and Dumbledore meet every so often to learn about Tom’s past, and to try to figure out what his Horcruxes might be. During this discussion, Fawkes transforms into Regulus Black, who - after recovering from an extended period as a fire bird - helps them find the Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort.  
  

  * Regulus and Sirius reconcile.  
  

  * Haven signs up for Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and Divination, having no interest in Arithmancy. During her CoMC class, she faces Buckbeak, as in canon. In Divination, she listens to Trelawney ramble about the Grim in her teacup, and blathers on about the unfortunate upcoming alignment of Pluto and Mars. Ron rather accurately predicts details about the upcoming years in tea leaves.   
  

  * Every now and then, Haven feels like she’s being watched. (She is, but the Lestranges are good at hiding in the shadows.) As the Lestranges have no reason to watch the Quidditch match, the Dementors do not approach.   
  

  * Haven and her friends go to Hogsmeade, and the Dementors are close enough for her to pass out near the end of the trip, and the incident is witnessed by Malfoy. She discusses the issue with her friends, who encourage her to do some research. She and Hermione come across the Patronus Charm while reading the Defence textbook, and when they are unable to perform the spell on their own, Hermione encourages Haven to talk to Remus, who agrees to help.  
  

  * Haven stays at Hogwarts for Christmas, Trelawney makes her prediction about the first to stand, and Sirius sends Haven a Firebolt. She donates her Nimbus to the Gryffindor team.   
  

  * At some point, Fred and George aren’t careful enough with the map (and given that the Marauders don’t show up on it), Remus manages to confiscate it. Fred and George go to Haven, asking her to get the map back for them during one of her lessons with Remus, and Haven agrees, with the condition that they show her how to use it, and give it to her when they graduate. They agree, and Haven does her best to get it back. Of course, she doesn’t manage to trick a former Marauder, so she waits to get the map back at the end of the year. When she finally gets it back, Fred and George tell her to keep it.  
  

  * ( _For a crossover:_ Cedric, Fred and George make the Ancestry Potion and find out that they are the sons of Tyr and Hermes, respectively. The Gods were able to possess Amos and Arthur due to their magic, and that is how they end up with demigod children.)  
  

  * During the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw Quidditch match, Malfoy, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle dress up as Dementors; Haven is so focused on catching the Snitch that she doesn’t notice them at first, and it is only after she catches the Snitch that she notices what is going on down below. McGonagall and Snape are both furious with Malfoy and his minions, and they give a week’s worth of detention to everyone involved in the prank.  
  

  * Haven goes back to Hogsmeade that weekend. She brings her invisibility cloak because she wants privacy that she was unable to have the first time (many of the shopkeepers were extremely enthusiastic, and several residents were crowding her). When she, Ron and Hermione go up to the Shrieking Shack, she is under the cloak because they needed to make an escape after overhearing information about the Lestranges (she learns what they did to Neville’s parents). Malfoy approaches Ron and Hermione, not realizing that Haven is there, and he begins to taunt them. Haven begins throwing snowballs until Crabbe steps on her cloak and yanks the hood off. Her floating head is so discomfiting that Malfoy and co run away. Malfoy tells Snape, who pulls Haven aside to ask why she assaulted his student. He takes points from Gryffindor when she refuses to cooperate with his interrogation.   
  

  * The Quidditch final is over quickly, with Gryffindor making only a single goal before Haven catches the Snitch. McGonagall smirks at Snape, who scowls at the reminder that Slytherin has once again lost the Quidditch House Cup.  
  

  * Finals take place, and Haven hears Trelawney's prophecy. They go to visit Hagrid, who is devastated about Buckbeak’s imminent death. Unlike Harry, Haven does not chase after the Lestranges; instead, she defends herself from Bellatrix whole the Dementors approach. The creatures are too much for Bellatrix, who passes out; Haven casts a Patronus to fend off the Dementors, and then she, Ron, Hermione, and Neville work together to bring Bella back to the castle, where Sirius and various family members and Professors are waiting for them. Rodolphus and Rabastan manage to escape, but Sirius takes Bella in and works on breaking the marriage contract that binds her to Rodolphus.




	10. Chapter 10

  * Over the summer, Barty Crouch Jr escapes his father’s hold and stumbles across Voldemort on his own. Winky is made to take care of Babymort while Barty cosplays as Moody; the Lestrange brothers are slowly integrating themselves into the Ministry and gathering supporters for Voldemort’s cause.)  
  

  * Sirius arrives to take Haven to the Quidditch Cup, and manages to charm the hell out of the Dursleys while he does it (this results in Sirius being invited to the Dursleys’ for dinner). He and Remus (who are working on getting their relationship back on the tracks) share their tent with Hermione and Haven after the game.  
  

  * When the Dark Mark is sent up, Sirius has the kids run into the woods and hide beneath the invisibility cloak. They do as they are told, nearly running into Malfoy on the way (and there is a moment where Haven looks at Malfoy’s face and sees how afraid he is). After the commotion dies down, the only evidence that anything happened is the dispersing green smoke in the sky and the echoes of a loud crack.  
  

  * Haven and Hermione join the Weasley family for breakfast the next morning, and it is then that they learn about the Triwizard Tournament from Mr Weasley, who cannot contain his excitement. Mr Weasley is called away to work, and in hopes of distracting everyone, Sirius suggests that they go school shopping, looking significantly at Molly when he mentions clothes. (What he will never tell anyone is that the dress robes are on him, and he ignores Remus’ knowing look). Everyone gets their school supplies, and the girls all try on different dress robes. They grow more and more horrified until Haven and Hermione exchange glances, and promptly drag all their female friends and Sirius into the Muggle world for dress shopping. They leave the boys to fend for themselves.   
  

  * Fourth year begins; the other schools are there from the start, and are told about the tournament during the feast. Hogwarts is big enough to fit all three schools, and so all the students live inside the castle and have their classes there.  
  

  * Moody teaches DADA.   
  

  * When Haven’s name comes out of the Goblet, she is seen as a legal adult in the eyes of the Wixen World (ie: she can use magic outside of school; she can Apparate if she learns how, etc). With four champions (Fleur, Viktor, Terence, and Haven) they decide to have four tasks.  
  

  * The First Task still involves Dragons, still requires the Champions to face down vicious beasts with sharp teeth and talons and wings and fiery breath, just as a baseline - some Dragons have other abilities, after all; the Antipodean Opaleye has hypnotic abilities, and a rudimentary skill for Legilimency that allows it to incapacitate its enemies in due time. The Swedish Shortsnout has an affinity for water in addition to its fire-breathing tendencies, and often resorts to the use of tidal waves and hurricanes, or hot steam. The Welsh Green is very in-tune with all things Earth, able to create earthquakes or grow enchanted forests at whim, depending only on the amount of magic beneath its feet, or the key lines near it. The Hebridean Black has a well-known relationship with light, and is quite happy to disrupt the waves traveling through the air so that the world around its prey changes color, or disappears entirely. The Hungarian Horntail is simultaneously the most and least dangerous of these Dragons; its agility on the ground, in the sky, or beneath the water is unmatched. This Dragon has no ability to manipulate magic as others of its genus do, but it does not need it, for it can shoot spikes from its tail with deadly accuracy, and its fire is hotter than that of the others. Its skin is scaled and hot to the touch and impervious to spells or weapons. This Task is suddenly far more deadly than it has any right to be, and liberating a golden egg from the other side of the arena seems impossible. This is a task of the mind.  
  

  * The Second Task is once again hinted at through the egg. Only this time, there is no riddle, nor any ear-shattering screeching. Instead, opening the egg results in goose-bumps cropping up over the Champion’s skin, and a shiver up their spine, and a sudden feeling of abject terror. This Task is once again a rescue mission, only the Champion is not rescuing a loved one. Instead, they must face their greatest fear - pulled from their minds by the Goblet of Fire - and save themselves. This Task is a battle of wits, and cold logic, and the Champions quickly realize that no Magic will save them. It is this Task that makes the four Champions realize that the Magical World is a cruel place, where fear and injury are nothing more than sport for onlookers. This is a task of the heart.  
  

  * In addition to the Tournament, the Quidditch games remain in place; there are the standard inter-House games, as well as games between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Hogwarts learns that they are not always the best at everything.  
  

  * Haven goes to the Yule Ball with Theo Nott.  
  

  * Crouch Sr disappears from the Magical World.   
  

  * The Third Task is a test of the soul. The Champions are inserted into a series of unrelated events which strip them down to their base components and show who they truly are to everyone watching. And the trick is this: the Champions are unaware that this is one of the tasks, are unaware that they are being watched, from the moment they step into the arena. The test is finding who most impresses the judges as they work their way through the challenge. Who has the best strategy? Who is the most creative, or impulsive, or compassionate? (The answer? They all have their strengths and weaknesses. This Task has no winner). They begin in a room with a situation, and once they get out of the first, a door appears, and they make a choice - go through or not, know your surroundings or face the unknown? Then a second challenge begins, then a third, then however many are required to determine character traits from these events which are tailored to fit the Champion. The faster a person finishes, the more tasks they must face, until an hour is up. The Champions are informed before their entrance that this is a Task, but that information becomes obsolete or disappears as soon as the Task begins. Who are you, really, when no one is watching?  
  

  * The Fourth Task is a duel. The Champions all duel each other - and they are made aware that the Task is a duel before it happens, so they can prepare - after dueling a person of their choice (?). The winner is announced, and then the scores are added up. This is a task of the body. The Champion is announced, (and though Haven loses the duel, she gains enough points to tie with Terence) and is given the Cup, which is a portkey to the Riddle Mansion and graveyard that is keyed only to Haven.   
  

  * With the help of Rodolphus’ hand, Voldemort rises and summons the Death Eaters. He duels Haven, who barely makes it back to Hogwarts. Fudge refuses to accept that Voldemort is back.   
  

  * Haven overhears Dumbledore telling Snape to spy on Voldemort, and she remembers that she told Quirrell about Snape being a spy. Snape remains in the safety of Hogwarts.




	11. Chapter 11

  * Haven returns to the Dursleys’, and spends the first half of her summer at Privet Drive and the second half at Grimmauld Place.  
  

  * Haven and the Dursleys are with Sirius at Grimmauld Place for her fifteenth birthday. They, along with the Order and Regulus, are cleaning up the house and making it livable.  
  

  * They find the locket and Regulus and Kreacher destroy it.  
  

  * Sirius and Remus get married. Dora offers to carry any children they might want; they use Remus’ sperm to artificially inseminate her in the Muggle World.  
  

  * Haven and Sirius are in Diagon Alley when the Dementors attack (Umbridge has contacts that allow her to use the trace on Haven to locate her, and she sends the Dementors after her with no thought to Haven’s potential surroundings - though it is not as though Umbridge knows what those coordinates mean, exactly) and so Haven uses the Patronus Charm to repel the Dementors, and then Sirius uses Fiendfyre to destroy them completely (and maybe one of those Dementors was the one who sucked out the Horcrux), and then Haven receives a letter from Mafalda Hopkirk informing her of her trial for her use of underage magic despite the fact that her participation in the Tournament means she is allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts.   
  

  * Haven actually has viable witnesses for her trial this time, and Dumbledore is actually paying attention to her this year, and so she manages to get out with little effort.  
  

  * Of course, Umbridge still becomes the new DADA professor, as well as the High Inquisitor, but the students deal with her rules and regulations extremely literally, until she has to rescind her orders. Meanwhile, Haven and the twins play pranks on Umbridge, and they accidentally start an Inter-House prank war. The DA is formed, but this time, it is held in the Chamber of Secrets, and the students can only get in with Haven’s assistance, using the Room or Requirements (Haven picks students up near their common rooms, and then they end up in the Chamber, and no one really knows how they get to the Chamber, or even that it is the Chamber. Hermione’s paper precaution is still in place, and Marietta still tells Umbridge about the DA, but she doesn’t actually manage to find them. She does get ahold of the list, and so Dumbledore still leaves Hogwarts.   
  

  * Because Haven no longer has her connection to Voldemort, she does not have to learn Occlumency with Snape; however, she is also unaware of the danger that Arthur Weasley is in, and is unable to warn anyone, so he dies.   
  

  * The twins, Ron, and Haven are all banned from Quidditch when Malfoy insults Molly Weasley and says that Arthur deserved to die within the same breath. Malfoy does not get banned, and Angelina has to replace four of her players for the Quidditch Team.   
  

  * When they are taking their Astronomy OWLs, McGonagall is attacked when she tries to prevent Umbridge from removing Hagrid from the school grounds. Voldemort hears about McGonagall’s temporary absence, and sends in a Death Eater to kidnap Haven, so that she can get the Prophecy. Her friends notice she is missing and they inform Snape, who deduces where she is and warns the Order.   
  

  * The Order arrives to rescue Haven, who has managed to evade the Death Eaters for a while, after retrieving the Prophecy. During the fight, Sirius manages to kill Rodolphus Lestrange - finally freeing Bellatrix from his hold. Moody dies, but ultimately Haven manages to escape Voldemort once again, and he is still unaware of the Prophecy.   
  

  * On the way out of the Ministry, Haven notices the motto is “Magic is Might” and the Statue in the antechamber has no Muggles in it because they’re in two separate worlds, technically speaking. The Magical world is safe from a Muggle attack because they don’t exist in the same space/plain. So the Statue is Wixen and creatures. Also the magical world still has magical and non magical creatures and beings just not people  
  

  * They fake Bella’s death so that Voldemort won’t be suspicious. Sirius does not die, and he and Remus go home to take care of Teddy, who was conceived after they married, with Tonks as a surrogate.   
  

  * When the school year ends, Haven returns to Grimmauld, instead of to the Dursleys’, though she does visit them on her birthday. 




	12. Chapter 12

  * Dumbledore destroys the ring after putting it on and getting himself cursed. Snape and Regulus try to slow it down.  
  

  * When Dumbledore comes to pick her up from her relatives’ house, they stop by Slughorn’s, and Haven convinces him to come teach again.  

  * Haven spies on Malfoy, who she notices is acting strange, in Diagon Alley.   
  

  * Voldemort attacks the Platform, resulting in the deaths of many students.  
  

  * On the train, Malfoy approaches Haven instead of her going to his compartment, and tells her that he is worried about his parents, so she takes him to Dumbledore after the feast and they help get Lucius and Narcissa out of Malfoy Manor.  
  

  * Snape becomes the DADA Professor.  
  

  * With Bellatrix’s permission, Sirius removes Hufflepuff’s Cup from her vault and they destroy it.  
  

  * The person who fixes the vanishing cabinet is a Ravenclaw (Marietta).  
  

  * Haven suspects her and almost kills her with Sectumsempra; she hides the Prince’s book in the Room of Requirement and finds the diadem, which she and Dumbledore destroy.   
  

  * Haven is tired of being kidnapped every year, and so she decides to try luring Voldemort to her now that Nagini is the only Horcrux left; she releases the Prophecy, and correctly assumes that he will think he has to kill her now.  
  

  * Voldemort, knowing that the best time to defeat Haven is before she reaches her magical maturity at age seventeen, decides to join the infiltration of Hogwarts. He decides to kill Dumbledore and Haven in one night. It is a last minute decision, as Haven has released the Prophecy.   
  

  * He manages to kill Dumbledore, who he takes by surprise, and who is very weak due to the curse catching up to him, and it is Voldemort who does it, and then he and Haven duel.   
  

  * Nagini, being the last Horcrux, is killed by Ginny Weasley, who wants revenge for the death of Arthur Weasley, who was guarding the prophecy in fifth year, because Haven knowing it doesn’t mean that Voldemort doesn’t want it for himself, and Haven manages to kill Voldemort.  
  

  * Neville kills Rabastan Lestrange, Snape is killed by Nott Sr, who is furious that he could have betrayed Voldemort, though this is old news. Theo kills Nott Sr.   
  

  * A monument is put up in the Great Hall to honor the dead. 




	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. This is the last "chapter" and has few to no plot points. It is an alternate seventh year that I thought could be kind of interesting, and obviously never got around to writing.
> 
> In case anyone is wondering, I have no idea about pairings other than Sirius/Remus, and possibly Marcus/Oliver; I originally planned on a bunch of pairings that wouldn't have come to fruition even if I had finished writing this, but Haven/Theo was one of them. I'm not tagging it because it didn't really happen, and I'm honestly not sure who would have ended up with who because any romantic pairings I write happen on accident.
> 
> Anyways, thank you to everyone who stuck this one out, even when I couldn't, and I hope you enjoyed what little I was able to offer.

  * The Ministry works on bringing in the remaining Death Eaters, Haven and her friends spend the summer together and celebrate her seventeenth birthday together.  
  

  * Slughorn stays on to teach Potions, Remus comes back to teach DADA - he and other werewolves helped fight against Voldemort, which helped relieve some of the stigma against them. Sirius switches from teaching History to teaching Child Development, and Regulus takes his place as the History Professor.  
  

  * Child development class for seventh years, students paired with people from opposite houses, and potatoes or eggs Transfigured into babies. About teamwork, child-rearing, etc.   
  

  * Paired with people outside of the friend group (Professors know their students’ habits) and the babies grow up fast. It’s a year long project that starts with right after birth (or a simulation of giving birth for male/female pairings) and goes all the way up to age nine. 
  * For better raising ability, there is a connected common room for seventh years that is secret until that year (meaning every seventh year knows about it but the younger years don’t know it exists).   
  

  * The project is implemented in Haven’s seventh year ( a survey is taken before seventh year and the general consensus is that it would have been nice to have practice raising a child while still in school, it is about this time that Muggle Studies is updated, and some of the classes mentioned in _Journals Through the Ages_ are brought back because of the school board Lucius is on in CoS).   
  

  * These fake children get up to a lot of trouble (maybe enough that they will be the main plot of seventh year, alongside the issues caused by the remaining death eaters), and because the students get attached to them, they are debriefed after the process is over given the laws of the Psychology whatever it’s called. They are also told going into the class that the “children” will be taken away at the end of the school year.




End file.
